Uncharted Waters (Destination Unknown, Part 2)
by GildaMulberry
Summary: Camille has left Saint Marie to build a new life. Meanwhile, Richard has been trying to move on - but he finds this is easier said than done. (AU). Rated M for later chapters! Sequel to 'Setting Sails' and part 2 of 'Destination Unknown' - Independent story, but it helps if you have read the first part of the series. Includes references to Robert Thorogood's 2nd book.
1. Autumn Feelings

Uncharted Waters

Chapter 1 – Autumn Feelings

It was a Sunday afternoon in September, the sun was shining, and although there was more than just a hint of autumn in the crisp, clear air, it still was fairly warm outside. Slightly melancholically, Richard Poole looked out of his kitchen window and tried to make up his mind about what he wanted to do with the remainder of this weekend.

He had spent most of it with his parents – they had just returned from a trip to Italy, and his mother had raved on and on about the wonderful food, the friendly people and the amazing sites they had seen.

A trip to Italy… Richard still couldn't get his head around how his parents' life had changed over the past year…

For as long as he could remember, his parents had not travelled outside the UK… until his mother had come to visit him on Saint Marie about two years ago. She had been confused and sad, and she had been about to separate from his father. Richard had realised with a shock that his parents might split up after nearly 50 years of marriage, and he had learnt that you could take absolutely nothing in life for granted, no matter how long it had already been around – not even your parents' marriage.

His whole world had started to crumble when his mother had described how unhappy she had been feeling. He hadn't had any idea – but then again, he had been away for almost two years… Also, his relationship with his parents had always been somewhat distant. He was almost sure that it had to do with the fact that he had basically grown up in boarding school and only seen his parents on every other weekend only – as well as for school holidays – and sometimes not even that had happened. A couple of times he had had to spend part of his holidays with an elderly relative because his parents had been away. As a result, he had slowly, but surely got estranged from his parents.

He had never felt quite at ease in his father's presence, and although he loved her dearly, his mother always gave him a slightly uncomfortable feeling about himself – as if she just couldn't understand how the sweet little boy that he had been had grown into this awkward, socially inept man... He was well aware of his fastidious personality, but well, it wasn't something he could change with a snap of his fingers, was it? Maybe he would have turned out differently if circumstances had been different – but then again - maybe not… That was all hypothetical, wasn't it…

He remembered how she had sometimes asked him about his activities – and he had told her about his stargazing, about the books he had read, the museums and exhibits he had visited… and more than once she had looked at him with sadness in her eyes and asked 'But Richard, don't you ever do things with your friends?' He had responded that he didn't have any, and when she had asked if he didn't feel lonely, he had replied honestly 'Yes, sure – but what can you do? And it's not like I'm not used to it – mind you, I've never been very sociable…'

Whenever they had reached that point in their conversation, Jennifer Poole had looked at him with tears in her eyes and turned away, changing the subject abruptly. Richard had felt guilty… it was like he had disappointed his mother by being the way he was. But then – what could he do about it?

He had always been an introverted bookworm, and he had always enjoyed solitary activities… As a child, he had been a little naïve, a daydreamer… and the boys at school had picked on him and poked fun at him for being so gullible. He had developed strategies to keep a low profile without betraying his beliefs and principles – it hadn't always been easy, but he had managed somehow. He had been happy when he had left school to go to university – Cambridge had been a whole different world.

Not that he had turned into a party animal there, but at least he had had a group of 'friends' – well, people he had spent time with, to be more precise. They had been five students with different backgrounds who kind of got together on a more or less regular basis, and for the first time in his life, Richard had not been a complete outcast. He hadn't gone home to see his parents more often than once in a month or six weeks, and gradually, he had gone even less frequently. Little by little, he and his parents had drifted apart even more, and when he joined the police and was based in London, he had sometimes only seen them twice a year.

Then he had been transferred to Saint Marie, and for almost two years, he hadn't seen his parents at all – until his mother had showed up on the island and he had realised that his parents were going through a very rough patch, and unless a miracle happened, they'd split up.

He had done everything to make this miracle happen – and it had indeed worked out… It had been a relief to see his parents happy again, and it had been amazing to see how they had turned their life around after they had reconciled. After his return from the Caribbean, he had seen them more regularly – he had realised that he had to do his share to keep the communication going, and so he made more of an effort now to visit them.

Richard was baffled to see how they had changed – and yet remained the same. Interests and hobbies from the past had resurfaced, and they had clearly been bitten by the travel bug.

From Saint Marie, they had travelled to Cuba, then they had gone home to the UK where they relocated to Gloucestershire – they had decided that they wanted to make a fresh start together in a new place, and it had worked out for them.

They had begun to travel within Europe then – and their most recent plan was a cruise to South America over Christmas and New Year. Harbours in Argentina, Uruguay and Brazil were on their list, and Richard's head started spinning when his mother began to talk about all the places they wanted to visit. There had been only little – if any! - remorse in her voice when she had remarked that he'd be on his own over the holidays – "Mind you, darling, you've been on your own over Christmas before, and you know how nice it is to spend the holidays in a warm climate, don't you, so I'm sure you'll understand" had been her words.

And then she had added "You should go back some time, Richard… I'm sure they would all be happy to see you again!"

Richard snorted as he put down his tea mug. If there was one thing in the world he would _not_ do, it was returning to Saint Marie. By now, they had all forgotten him, anyway. And his mother had obviously forgotten how much he had suffered in the Caribbean climate… he had never got used to the stifling heat, the atrocious sand, the muggy humidity… - no, in his book, it was not nice to spend the holidays far from home, all alone, in a warm climate.

But – truth be told – he hadn't been on his own… his team had seen to it that he had spent the holidays with them. He had been invited to several Christmas and New Year's events… there had been get-togethers, casual little parties, festive dinner events… it had almost been too much. But he hadn't had time to miss the UK – and in hindsight he realised that Fidel, Dwayne and Camille had done their best to make him feel comfortable and less lonely. He hadn't stood a chance to turn down their offers to spend time at their houses – and once, when he had tried to fend them off by saying he couldn't possibly accept another invitation because he had already over-strained their hospitality, Camille had suggested they'd all come to his house to have a party so he wouldn't have to feel guilty any more.

It had been more fun than he had thought it would be… oh, those were the days…

He sighed a little. His mother's seemingly innocent remark had brought up unwanted feelings and memories. He didn't really want to think of Saint Marie…

Saint Marie had been quite the experience. It had changed him – he had realised that after his return. It hadn't been as easy as expected to re-adjust to life in the UK... He had been out of the loop for over two years, and nothing had been the same any more when he had returned. Not only had London changed – there were new buildings, new stores, new anything… - work also had changed. And all the technology that he had been cut off from during his time on Saint Marie – there had been new databases, new structures, new procedures. It had been challenging to find his feet under these circumstances.

Not to mention that he had been promised to get a position in the North of London, and HR had initially mentioned Islington, but just before his departure from Saint Marie, he had been informed that he would have to step in for a sick DI in Walthamstow…

After some negotiating, however, he had finally come to an agreement with HR – he'd be in Walthamstow for three months, and after that, he'd get transferred to Islington. So, a week after he had arrived in London, he had started to look for a house – he had resided in a guest house for a while and had quickly got fed up with that. It had been crowded, noisy and dirty… and with some wistfulness, he had thought of his little shack on the beach back on Saint Marie…

He hadn't appreciated that enough, as he had realised then. It had been a weird little place, but at least he had had it all to himself, and after he had tidied it up and chucked out his predecessor's belongings, it had actually been a rather nice house, all things considered.

It had taken him a little while to find a suitable house in the area, but eventually, he had succeeded. He had sold his place in Croydon, and he had savings, so he had been able to get a little terraced house in the North of London. It was in a quiet area – the street was a cul-de-sac, so there hardly was any traffic. It was a 30-45 minutes commute to the Islington police station, so it was convenient – he didn't have to spend hours on end on trains and buses to get to work.

The house wasn't perfect, but it was good enough for him. The little vestibule - where he had put the coat rack, a dresser and a shoe cabinet – opened into an entrance hall. On one side of it was the rather spacious kitchen, a moderately sized guest bathroom and a small utility room where he kept the washer and dryer, a drying rack, a ladder, and his ironing board. On the other side, there was a large living room with a dining area, and a tiny cubbyhole for storage. Upstairs, he had two bedrooms (he used the bigger one of them – that contained a luxurious, comfortable king size bed! - for himself, the other one basically was a multipurpose room – there was a couch that could be turned into a queen size bed, a comfortable armchair and lots of full bookshelves), a fairly big bathroom and a small room where he kept a desk for paperwork, more full bookshelves, his precision optical instrument, and a couple of gadgets, gizmos and 'things' that had no real home. It was a junk room, as he knew very well, but a very tidy one. There was no mess, everything had its place – but it still was basically a junk room.

There was no real front yard, but he had a small paved area in the back of the house, just big enough for a tiny table and two chairs, and there even was something resembling a stretch of 'lawn'. A single buddleia bush that had survived the previous owner's gardening skills completed the 'garden', and Richard had spent quite a few warm evenings sitting outside – trying to pretend that the faint noise in the distance were waves lapping on the beach, not cars on a busy road…

Much to his surprise, he had realised that he had obviously got more accustomed to the warm climate in the Caribbean than he had thought. He had often felt cold after he had moved back to the UK, and eventually, he had figured he'd have to do something about it. He had remembered that he had always enjoyed going for walks, and he had even been a runner during his university years. He had never been extremely athletic, but with the pressure of PE school lessons being gone, he had enjoyed exercising, and so he had considered taking this up again. Another reason for thinking about more exercise had been that he had got a hint from his doctor that he wasn't in great shape and could do with a few pounds less – not that he could be called 'fat' by any means, but the inactivity on Saint Marie had had side effects…

For a while, nothing had happened, but then he had sat at home one afternoon, a few days after his birthday, not quite knowing what to do with himself, and with a pang, he had realised that he was in the second half of his 40s now, he was an old bachelor, and his life would pass by without him really feeling alive unless he did something about it. It was all in his own hands, and if he didn't make the necessary changes, nothing would happen. It had been an insight that had suddenly shaken him up… and he hadn't wanted to end up that way, old and bitter, regretting all the things he had _not_ done.

So, he had pulled himself together, got up and changed into old track pants and running shoes…

At first, it had been a struggle, but soon enough, he had felt better, and slowly, he had become fitter, stronger and faster. His energy level had gone up, and he had started to do other things as well – he had gone swimming a couple of times, he had bought a set of small dumb bells for basic strength training, and he had gone hiking a few times, too.

Little by little, he had built himself a more active life. He had even gone for an overnight trip to Cambridge to explore his old uni town as a tourist – and that had been fun. Reading still was his first love, and he also spent time on stargazing, doing puzzles, and listening to music, but he was generally more physically active.

And it showed – his trousers fit better around the waist again, he felt stronger, and he noticed that he had more stamina. He also slept better. So, he was fitter than ever before in his life – and he enjoyed it. He did all that on his own, so it wasn't about socialising for him. He knew that some people preferred going to a gym, but he felt that this wasn't his scene, so he kept up his private training and did things at his own pace.

He doubted he'd ever taken up all these activities if it hadn't been for the need to distract himself…

Yes, Saint Marie had changed him… he hadn't needed this kind of 'distraction' before his assignment there…

As he looked out of his kitchen window and idly watched the neighbour's fat cat saunter along the pavement, he smiled wistfully. Unlikely as it sounded… he sometimes missed Saint Marie. He had hated it at first, but he had got accustomed to life there, and sometimes he had even liked it. For a while he actually had considered staying. But he hadn't really managed to make up his mind – there had been factors he hadn't been able to figure out, and eventually, the decision had been made for him – he had received notice that his assignment would finish within a week, and he'd get re-transferred to London.

This had thrown him into an inner turmoil. He had been torn between being happy and being desperate. In the end he had just accepted the new situation. He had tried to convince himself that it would be better for him to move back to the UK where he was rooted, where he knew the rules, and where people weren't so godawfully jolly all the time. Where he could wear his suits without breaking into a sweat, where he could get food he'd be able to digest, where he could walk in the rain and feel the fog on his face.

And where he was safe. Safe from all the emotions that had rattled him so deeply on Saint Marie. Feelings that had scared him, that had bewildered him, that had kept him awake at night sometimes.

He hadn't dared admitting to himself what those feelings had been about – only when it had been too late, he had realised that leaving Saint Marie would not make them go away.

He had thought that he could escape Camille's magic spell by returning to London. What a fool he had been…

And although he didn't really want to think of Saint Marie, let alone of Camille… he couldn't help it: For a moment he closed his eyes and allowed himself to remember their last encounter… He thought back to how they had stood in his shack, how she had come closer, how she had asked him if this was what he wanted… and how he had responded that it would be better for her if he left and that he would perhaps have more peace of mind without her.

With a shiver, he recalled how she had suddenly been in his arms, how she had kissed him, and how he had forgotten the world around them for a moment. A slightly crooked smile appeared on his lips… If he had ever believed he could forget her, he had realised there and then that this would _never_ happen…

Nothing had been important… all that had counted had been her, the nearness of her, the desire washing over them, the passion… She had been so soft, almost boneless, in his arms, she had pressed her body against his, and he had felt how he was losing his head… It had been a good thing that the cab had pulled up a few moments later and they had come back to reality. Who knew what would have happened otherwise…

Although he had convinced himself that it was better this way, he had felt miserable when he had climbed into the cab. All the way to the airport, all the way during the flight he had felt like his heart had been ripped out.

After a couple of weeks, the strong feeling of loss and bereavement had faded a little, and he had thought he might have a chance to forget and carry on without her… But then, her e-mail had arrived, and he had sat there, stunned at the effect she still had on him from the distance. For a long time he had just stared at the e-mail, particularly the signature… 'your friend always, Camille', followed by an 'x' and an 'o'…

No, it couldn't be. She couldn't mean this. And if she did – where was the point, anyway? They were oceans apart now. No, he'd have to go his way, and she'd have to go hers, no matter how much he had wanted it to be different.

And he had typed up a neutral, to-the-point reply… and although he had been tempted to ask how things were going, although he had wanted to know if she missed him, he had decided it was pointless, anyway, so he had kept it business-like and signed off with 'Sincerely, Richard Poole'.

Secretly, he had hoped she'd get back to him and send him another message… if she cared, she would do that, wouldn't she? They had shared this amazing, intimate moment, he had felt the longing in her kiss – he hadn't just imagined that. Or had he?

After a while, however, he had realised that his e-mail had successfully driven her away. She hadn't responded, and he had known that it had all been wishful thinking from his side. He had ignored the nagging little voice in his head that had chided him for being such a moron, telling him that it had been the cold tone of his e-mail that had caused her not to reply any more. No, no – she hadn't been serious about the whole matter – she had just played with him. She had made a fool of him by pulling off this cruel joke of trying to make him believe that she cared for him. She had forgotten him – so he had to forget her, too.

Of course, he had known this was silly, but it had helped him to get on with his life, and little by little, he had managed to repress the memories and store them away in a very tiny drawer in the back of his mind.

Usually, he kept this drawer firmly shut, but the weekend with his parents had obviously unlocked the memories, and he had had trouble falling asleep as he had lay in the darkness of the guestroom of his parents' house, listening to the ticking of the clock. Particularly the second night had been bad – he had managed fairly well to will the memories away when he had gone to bed on the first evening, but the second had been more difficult. He had lay there on his back, thinking of all the banter, the smiles and the jokes that he and Camille had shared, the heated arguments, the laughter, the fun… and he had recalled the tone of her voice when she had said 'you have me now' when they had been locked up together in the weather lab during the hurricane one night, he had remembered how beautiful she had been and how she had looked at him on the evening of the Erzulie festival when they had sat together on the patio of 'La Kaz' for a moment, he had thought of how she had hugged him before he had left for the UK to escort Vicky Woodward…

He had also cursed himself for his childish neediness when he had let her go to have a drink with Dwayne and Fidel instead of joining them after they had solved the Polly Carter case – just because she had not called him 'Chief'. Really, how pointless. Another mistake, another missed opportunity, another wasted chance. It would have been so much better if he had spent time with her instead of sitting at home on his own… He had sometimes wondered if things might have developed differently if he had joined his team that evening. But it was too late now.

 _Too late…_

He had stared into the darkness and bitten his lip in deep remorse. For a while he had remained like that, then he had turned over and resolutely closed his eyes, trying to empty his mind and think of nothing, so he could fall asleep. It had taken him a while, but eventually he had succeeded.

Why did his mother have to bring up the topic of Saint Marie? Why couldn't she leave him in peace? It was over, he wouldn't go back, and it was of no use to dwell on things he couldn't have.

He had been grateful when he had finally returned home again an hour ago. He needed to live his own life, and he had to move on somehow.

Well, time to leave those morose thoughts behind… It would get dark in two hours, so if he wanted to go for a walk or a run, he'd have to get going now. So, with another sigh, he climbed the stairs to his bedroom and got changed.

A few minutes later, he took up his water bottle, grabbed an energy bar, angled for his keys – and then he stepped outside, locked the door and set off.


	2. Habits and Insights

Chapter 2 – Habits and Insights

About a week later, Richard found a memo in his e-mail inbox at work, informing everyone that the station would get a few new interns over the next months because the preparation courses for the Inspectors' Exams had re-commenced, and in order to enable the participants to get an idea of as many workfields as possible, all departments were 'encouraged' to accept assignments.

He sighed. Having interns was the pits. He had had one for a few weeks last year, and it had been a bit of a disaster. The young man had not really been interested in police work – he had only wanted to climb the ladder. That in itself wasn't a problem – the problem was that he had been careless and flippant, and it had been a nightmare to take him along to investigations. Richard generally didn't suffer fools gladly – he wasn't particularly patient with stupid people, but he was even less patient with intelligent, yet lazy people. As long as they were lazy at nobody's expense, he usually tried to ignore their behaviour, but in this case, he had been at the end of his tether very quickly. The cooperation had been very unpleasant – for both parties.

It had added to his already somewhat marred reputation of being 'difficult', hard to please and overly critical. Well, he was used to being categorised like that – pretty much the only place where people had let him be and respected his abilities had been Saint Marie. How ironic that he had been able to show his full potential on a small godforsaken island in the Caribbean – where nobody had been around to fully appreciate it.

Well, that wasn't fair – he knew that the Commissioner had praised him highly, and his team hadn't complained, either. There had been a somehow bewildering phase of mutual adjustment, and he had known that they were shaking their heads at him sometimes, but although Camille and he had had extensive shouting matches every once in a while and she had called him 'annoying' and 'childish', their cooperation had been perfect in so many ways.

He sat back for a moment and closed his eyes… Dwayne, Fidel and Camille had been the best team he had ever had. They had done overtime without wasting a thought on compensation when it had been required to get the job done – there hadn't been any complaints when it had taken them longer than the regular work hours to get a certain thing out of the way. All the extra hours that Fidel had put in to analyse and compare fingerprints, all the time that Camille had spent brooding over little pieces of evidence with him, all the strings that Dwayne had pulled to make his 'contacts' talk… they had all done more than their fair share of work. Granted, they had also known how to celebrate successes… Catherine Bordey's bar had been their locale, and he remembered the get-togethers there fondly.

Here, he sometimes joined his team in the pub next door after work – the 'Wild Boar' was a typical pub for the area, not too different from the 'White Hart' in Croydon where he had spent quite some time sitting in the snug and enjoying a pint of beer after work… but back then, he had often been by himself. At least this was different now – the team he worked with these days was perhaps not the best in the world, but in any case, he was well-respected. That had clearly not been the case in Croydon. Here in Islington, people might not love him, but he wasn't despised or ridiculed, either. He was regarded as eccentric and slightly whimsical, and he knew there was a slightly unapproachable air about him that discouraged people to try and impose on him, but he could certainly live with that – at least he wasn't being bullied any more.

He had been promoted to DCI half a year ago, and since then, he hadn't really gone out any more to do all the legwork that you had to do when you were a DI or a DS, but that didn't mean that he was bored. He still loved investigative work – puzzle solving, as he had always called it. But he had other things to do now as well – the administrative workload had increased with his promotion, and he had to supervise a team that consisted of two DIs and the adherent staff, plus there were meetings and other things on his agenda.

The Superintendent – Jack Morris (the team secretly had nicknamed him 'Chuck Norris' – although he didn't resemble the well-known _Texas Ranger_ from TV at all…) – was a fairly lenient man in his late 50s, with a delicate stomach and a slightly yellowish skin that indicated a more or less obvious health problem, but he was apparently indestructible – he hardly ever got ill, and even when almost the entire team had been wiped out due to a bout of the flu last winter, he had been there and run the station together with Richard and less than a handful of others who had resisted the virus as well.

For a moment, Richard wondered if there was anything in the world that could ruffle Superintendent Morris. He had never seen him nervous or upset. He could be manipulative sometimes, but well, many people were manipulative, so it didn't bother Richard all that much. He could deal with that.

Well, whatever. At least he'd be safe from having to waste his precious time on an intern this year – as a DCI, he didn't have to bother with that sort of thing any more. This cup would pass from him… His two DIs would have all the fun!

* * *

It was mid-October. Camille Bordey was trying not to freeze her legs off as she was standing at the bus stop, waiting for the bus that would take her to the training centre. The first month of her training had passed, and she had realised that it wasn't quite what she had expected it to be. She hadn't thought that it would be so demanding, so complicated, so annoyingly full of details.

Of course, she _had_ known there were all sorts of details that she'd have to learn. But then again, she had figured that she'd understand intuitively what most things would be about. It was now that she realised that – while the French and the British system had quite a bit in common – there were a lot of differences in procedure, and it was cumbersome to try and remember all the little things.

Obviously, she benefited from her service in the Saint Marie Police Force – particularly Richard had taught her a lot. He had been really nitpicky. Humphrey hadn't taken the time to point out mistakes she might have made – he just had corrected them without making a point of letting her know, so she noticed now that she had obviously made the same mistakes over and over again. She was angry about his carelessness now, but then she understood that most likely he hadn't really been aware of her wanting to do things right. He had just assumed that she did a great job as a detective and that fixing her minor lapses and mistakes wouldn't hurt him. Perhaps he had also been a bit afraid she'd react overly sensitive to getting corrected.

And yes, if that had been his fear, then he had had a point, Camille reluctantly conceded. She had made a song and a dance about Richard pointing out to her when she had used a wrong expression or spelled something incorrectly – at least initially. That had been when they had still been on somewhat hostile terms with one another… Richard, however, had been persistent, although – as she knew only too well – he had found her intimidating to a certain extent. He had known that she had her strong sides, but procedure and writing reports weren't among them, and he had kept telling her to be more careful and scrupulous.

She had called him pedantic and overly concerned with detail, but as a matter of fact, she had learnt, and with time, she had made fewer mistakes. She knew now, though, that she had made more mistakes again after Humphrey had taken over. He had just been too lenient and not accurate enough.

Camille now realised that from a professional point of view, she had _grown_ under Richard's wings while she had merely _kept up the status quo_ under Humphrey's 'leadership'. Richard had challenged her - he had pushed her to be ambitious, do more, work harder, simply by being the way he was. Humphrey's laid back manners had made her lazy – she had still been a good detective, but she had basically rested on her laurels and not made any efforts to grow and learn more. In the end, that had bored her, and all things considered, it had been a logic decision for her to leave – regardless of the 'Richard issue', as she called it, or the 'Humphrey problem'. She would have left in any case – she knew that now.

Several times when she had sat over a project for her training, she had remorsefully thought of Richard and his meticulousness – and silently apologised to him for going off like a rocket out of control when he had told her to be more accurate, to be more precise, to be more to the point, to be clearer. She had also remembered how he had sometimes pointed at something, how he had looked at her with his sharp green eyes, how he had very, very rarely smiled all of a sudden and come out with one of this deadpan remarks.

And whenever she had then started to think of how he had stopped in his track and given her the 'raised eyebrows' look when she had surprised him one morning in his pyjamas and advised him to sleep naked unless he wanted to die of heatstroke… or other little incidents… she had quickly diverted her thoughts into a completely different direction.

She didn't want to think of him, what he had meant to her, what could have been… and what she still felt for him, although she had worked so hard on forgetting him and moving on.

It was so unbelievably hard to get him out of her system… If she had thought that leaving Saint Marie where she was reminded of him at every corner would make it easier, she had perhaps been mistaken. He was just as present in her thoughts over here where everything was just so English… It was not that she was thinking of him constantly, of course, but he found his way into her thoughts much more often than she would have liked.

Well, things should get better now. The first module was finished, they'd receive their grades this afternoon, and they'd be informed about which district or borough or whatever they called it here they were assigned to. Digging her teeth into some real work would do her good! And she'd finally get away from the books and get out and about a little more again – at least until January… then her second module would start.

There was her bus… she hopped on, and as she held on to a safety handle, she began to make plans for the remainder of the day and the forthcoming weekend. She'd hopefully move out of her provisional guesthouse accommodation in November, so there wasn't much she could do in regard to cooking, decorating or other home-related activities. Since she wouldn't have to sit and study, she wanted to take advantage of the free time and go for a long walk, maybe she'd go swimming, too – a guy in her course had recommended a particular pool that apparently wasn't too expensive… It wasn't really near where she lived now, but checking it out would give her an opportunity to get more acquainted with the city and see places. And if it wasn't any good, she would not have to go back.

For the first time in many years, Camille had to watch her pennies – London was very expensive, and she had quickly noticed that it was out of the question to continue her Saint Marie lifestyle of eating out regularly, attending events and going to places. She had a pass for public transport, but restaurants and clubs were expensive, the museum pass cost an arm and a leg, too – plus she hadn't had the time to look into the whole thing so far -, the really good botanical gardens or other horticultural highlights weren't free - and fitness clubs were out of this world in regard to membership fees.

Also, she had had to buy more warm clothes than anticipated as she had found it unpleasantly cold over here and the guesthouse she stayed at didn't have central heating, but provided one of those gas-run heating systems that were a pain in the neck and didn't heat properly…

After it had become fairly cold during the second half of September, she had quickly started to use the training centre's library for studying – at least it was warm there. She had even taken along a flask with hot lemon tea or some other beverage and kept that in her backpack, so whenever she had felt like having a break and something hot to drink, she had gone out to her locker, taken out her backpack and sat in one of the corners of the cafeteria. That way, she didn't have to buy coffee there – she had noticed that not many people did as she did, and she was aware of perhaps coming across as a little stingy, but she didn't mind – she needed her money for other things.

With a slightly wistful smile, she remembered her long, enjoyable holiday before starting the course here in London… it had been _so_ very good to spend time in France. She had been to Paris and visited friends there, and after a short stint in London, she had spent time in Brittany, visited her mother's birthplace in Normandy, and even spent a few nights in Belgium before returning to Paris and going back to London from there. Apart from the time in Paris, she had been on her own – she had stayed in small inns or 'gîtes', and it had done her good to spend time by herself and re-group. She hadn't travelled anywhere during her time on Saint Marie – with the exception of a week in Paris when she had done an IT class there, but that had seemed like a lifetime away – it had been during her first year of working in Honoré… So, it had been fun to discover new places – and she had enjoyed doing things at her own pace. And it had been so relaxing… she hadn't realised how much she had needed to get away from it all.

She had flown to Paris from Guadeloupe and spent a few days there before she had looked at different flats and houses in London - together with her friend Isabelle from Paris. They had found a really nice little flat to rent, but then the owner had changed her mind before she had signed the contract, and they had to start at square one again. Eventually, one of Isabelle's contacts had given them a hint, and they had found a place in Stanmore, which was much farther out than Camille liked, but she hadn't had much of a choice at that point.

It was a block of flats – which sounded worse than it actually was. It was a house with only 10 tenants – single people as well as couples and families -, so it wasn't too bad. The flat came furnished, and at least she wouldn't live more than a ten minute walk from the final stop of the underground – or was it the _overground_? She was confused about what Londoners called their tube. Whatever. In short, she could reach the tube on foot, there were bus stops everywhere, and she was confident she'd manage, even if it might be an adjustment. And it wouldn't be forever. She'd finish this course, and after a year or so she'd go somewhere else. She wasn't sure what the future would hold for her – whether she'd stay in the UK or return to the Caribbean… It didn't matter at the moment. She just wanted to successfully finish the course, and everything else would fall into place somehow.

Out of curiosity, she had checked where Croydon was since Richard had mentioned that he had worked there before he had come to Saint Marie - and she had nearly fainted when she had realised that it was quite far from where she would live, so if she was sent there… good grief! Then, however, she had checked timetables and bus routes and understood that wherever she'd have to go, it wouldn't take her much longer than 70 to 90 minutes (one way) to get there by public transport, no matter how far a place looked on the map. Some of the places closer to Stanmore seemed harder to reach as there were only buses running, so the amount of time she'd spend on public transport would be similar, no matter where she'd be assigned. It was obviously a far cry from the 10 minutes between her mother's house and the station in Honoré, but again… it wouldn't be forever, and living in a city had its advantages, too. She liked the hustle and bustle, watching all the people, taking in the atmosphere…

But because money was tight, she hadn't been able to do a lot of the things she would have liked to do. Never mind – walking did her good, and the London parks all were worth several visits – and they were free! Once she had saved up again a little, she could be a bit more generous again – she had had to pay a deposit for renting the flat, and there had been all the other unexpected expenses… It felt uncomfortable that she had had to go into her savings right away, but there hadn't been any way around it. It seemed that the others in her course didn't have the same problem, so she had nobody to discuss it with.

She spent a lot of her time on her own, anyway. It was not that she didn't want to get to know the others – it was just that most of her classmates were from the UK and went home on weekends or had their life here in London, anyway. Many of them had spouses who supported them, and they certainly wanted to carry on with their usual life. She was the only one from overseas, and that kind of singled her out. Being an outgoing person, she had become friendly with a few people, but she was usually on her own over weekends, and it felt a little lonely at times.

However, she had a goal, and she had Christmas to look forward to – she would visit Isabelle and Alain again over the holidays. That would be fun… and until then, she'd just have to plod along somehow.

Well, whatever… she'd find out today which station she'd get assigned to, and then she'd spend the weekend on fun things. She was determined to make the most of it!

She was delighted to see that she had passed this first module with flying colours. Well, more or less so – she hadn't reached the highest possible marks, but she had got close, and she was really pleased with herself. It had been hard work – and it had shown her that she had more to learn than she had anticipated. The French and the British legal system were based on different grounds – she had always known that, but learning how it affected all kinds of procedures had been an eye-opener, and she looked at things from a new angle now. There were hundreds of bagatelles that were handled differently. Of course, the broad strokes were more or less the same, but the devil was in the details.

Then, they received the notifications where they'd be assigned for their first internship. Barnet Police Station. That was where she was supposed to go. It was about an hour from where she lived now, so it wasn't too bad. She was glad that they wouldn't have to stay at the same station for _every_ internship – hopefully, she'd be assigned to a more convenient station next time. From Stanmore, it would be 80 minutes to Barnet by bus, although it was only 20 minutes by car. Well, she would see if she could perhaps find someone who could give her a lift for sharing expenses - or some other option. They had two police stations, apparently, but she was assigned to the main one. One person in her course was assigned to the other station, as she found out. Well, too bad – she would have liked to share experiences with another intern, but no such luck… Well, she would survive.

She would have to report to Superintendent Angela Tyler – a female boss, now that would be different! Camille had always worked in mixed teams, and she was convinced that this was the most functional and efficient work environment. She hadn't minded being the only female in Richard's team, but it could have become awkward if the men hadn't been so uncomplicated (not that Richard had been easy to deal with at first, but well… he had just been rude, but not the condescending macho type that she had met in other teams), and in general, she preferred more mixed teams. It had definitely been a relief when Florence had joined the team – she hadn't been happy to see Fidel go, but having another female in the team had brought more variety and had changed the dynamics – and while Humphrey still had focused too much on her, Florence's presence had provided some distraction.

Two of her classmates were assigned to Islington, and others went to Southwark, Kensington and Bromley. There also was one assigned to Croydon – Camille couldn't help but wonder how Richard's former colleagues would treat him. He was an introverted small man, very earnest in his demeanour – if they had looked down on Richard, they would look down on Michael, too. But then again, Doug Anderson was gone, so there was hope that the team dynamics had shifted there, too.

When she noticed that her thoughts were drifting into this unwelcome direction yet _again_ , she took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to direct her attention to something completely different. She'd phone her mother tomorrow in the early afternoon to let her know about her results – it would be morning on Saint Marie then, and there was a good chance they could talk a little without getting disturbed then. Catherine wasn't so keen on talking in the early mornings because she found it a little hard to focus after long nights, but she usually was awake enough between 8 and 9 a.m. They had skyped a few times for half an hour each time – with interruptions because technology had failed on them - but this time, Camille simply wanted to reassure her that she had received good marks and tell her she'd start her internship on the following Monday. They could always talk more elaborately at another time.

"Are you coming to the pub with us, Camille?" she heard someone ask from behind. She was on the verge of saying no again – it was almost becoming a habit! – but then she figured she had a reason to celebrate and a drink or two wouldn't do any harm – so she turned around with a smile and responded "Yes, sure – where are we going?"


	3. Strange Encounters

Chapter 3 – Strange Encounters

Once again, Richard wasn't quite sure what to do with the weekend – he had housework to do, of course, but he didn't want to spend the entire weekend inside or doing chores. At the same time, the weather wasn't too appealing, and he figured that running wasn't going to happen for him if it continued to rain like that. Fortunately, he had already done the grocery shopping! There was a little supermarket not all that far from where he lived now – it was a bit more expensive than the huge department stores, but he didn't have a car, and he didn't really need all that much, anyway, so he didn't mind spending the extra money as he saved time. Also, there were other shops in the same neighbourhood – a flower shop, a dry cleaner and a little key service shop where you could also get your shoes repaired, for example. Richard liked that much better than the big shopping centres that were so common nowadays.

A little indecisively, he looked at the pile of books he had recently got from the library, but somehow they didn't appeal to him right now. The thought of sitting around and reading didn't do anything for him today – he felt he couldn't focus on a book properly at the moment. He realised that he was feeling a little restless and that exercise would most likely bring back the balance, so after some pondering, he went upstairs to pack his swimming bag. Exercising had definitely become more important to him since his return from Saint Marie – he had understood that it helped him to feel more 'in tune' with himself. And of course, it had felt good when his trousers had not been so tight around the waist any more…

As a rule, he avoided going to the pool on Saturdays as there was a chance that it would be crowded with children and their respective parents, but it was still early enough – before 9 a.m. - so he might give it a try… He'd see how this would pan out, and if it went well, it could be a good alternative to running on weekends. By the time he'd reach the pool, it would be around 9.30 – in his experience, the masses didn't begin to pour in before 11. The pool opened at 8 on Saturdays, as he had found out by checking the respective website, so obviously, there had to be more people like him who weren't keen on having a whole bunch of pre-schoolers around them, either.

And he had been right – when had changed into his navy blue swimming trunks and entered the pool area with his towel and goggles in hand, he saw that there were only about 15 other people in the water, and some of them already seemed to make ready to leave, so he hoped he could swim his usual 1.5 – 2 miles without too many people getting into the way. The first few laps usually only were for warming up, anyway, but after that, he'd get serious…

Initially, when he had taken up swimming again, he had felt self-conscious about his body. He hadn't 'exposed' himself in a long, long time – and somehow it had seemed a bit weird to do it now. But he had realised that he wouldn't get anywhere if he kept worrying, and after a few times of swimming laps at the pool, he had realised that really nobody was looking at him, anyway. Or so it seemed. If anybody was looking, he didn't notice. He had found this insight amazingly liberating – and once he had come to that point, he hadn't wasted another thought on the issue.

He had just finished his second lap when he felt that water was getting into his goggles, so he stopped, stood by the edge and tried to fix the problem. When he looked up again to put on the goggles, he noticed a movement at the other end of the pool – a swimmer made ready to get out of the water. He idly watched the slim figure climbing up the ladder – a female, in a bright red one-piece. Good grief – she had endless legs! With gracious movements, she wrung out her long dark hair – curls, if he got that right from the distance. He squinted his eyes. His eyesight wasn't as good as it had used to be, as he realised much to his chagrin. But then, this pool was used for competitions, so it was very large… and with 50 metres between them, he couldn't quite say whether her hair was straight or curly. In any case, her skin was like caramel in the neon light, and when she threw her hair back, he was reminded of _someone_ …

He blinked in disbelief, but before he could look a second time, the woman was gone – the last thing he saw was the door to the ladies' showers closing behind her.

After a moment of incredulousness, he shook his head – as if he wanted to get rid of the memory – and put on his goggles. He had clearly spent too much time on thinking of Saint Marie over the last few weeks – if he hadn't realised it before, he certainly knew now… As he dived into the water again, he chided himself for being a sentimental idiot. Camille was far away, on Saint Marie, an island on the other side of the planet; most likely she was frolicking around on the beach, driving the men around her to distraction.

Then another thought crossed his mind… maybe she was married, with a child, perhaps? He was surprised at how much this idea actually hurt him. It was the first time that it occurred to him that she might not be working in the police force any more…

It was disconcerting how much she still meant to him… And ever since his mother had asked him about Saint Marie a few weeks back (and she had mentioned it _again_ during recent phone conversations – it was really, really annoying that she wouldn't stop nagging him!), she had been on his mind. It was time that this foolishness came to an end – but how should he accomplish that? Well, for a start, he could just try not to give those thoughts and feelings too much room…

Resolutely, he began to move and plough through the water, and little by little, the tension he had suddenly felt when he had thought of Camille maybe being married dissipated.

When he got out of the water after he had finished his usual distance, he felt calmer and more composed again. He grabbed his towel, slipped into his flipflops and headed to the showers, already planning what he'd have for (second) breakfast – he had only eaten very lightly this morning as he had hoped he could go running, and so he was really hungry now.

Scrambled eggs would be nice, he mused, and he'd also have bacon with that… Yes, definitely…

* * *

Catherine had the feeling that her daughter wasn't entirely happy in London, but then again, she hadn't been happy here on Saint Marie, either, and at least she did something new and challenging in the UK now. And the marks that she had received for the first part of her course had been excellent – Catherine was very proud of Camille.

Still, during their short phone conversation this morning, she had had the feeling that Camille was a little subdued – but maybe she had just been homesick. She had complained a little about the cold in the UK, but when Catherine had made a sympathetic remark, she had laughed and said "Oh, never mind, Maman – I think I may just have become a huge softie. After all, I have survived the French winters, too – so I won't die of the cold here, either. And I've wanted it this way, so I'm not complaining. At least not seriously!"

Then she had changed the subject and told her about her week. Catherine had noticed that she had talked a lot about going for walks, so obviously she tried to spend as much time out of doors as possible. And she also seemed to try getting more exercise by going swimming again – she had finally found a pool that she liked. She had described the changing rooms and showers to Catherine and said enthusiastically "Everything was so clean, Maman – totally different from that filthy pool I had been to last time."

Catherine had never been much into exercising herself, but she knew it was a vital aspect for her daughter, so she had listened patiently to how Camille had raved about the size of the pool and the fact that there were other smaller pools, too. One was apparently for children. Camille had explained "The water is warmer in there, you know – but I also saw that they offer aqua-aerobics there, so this might be another thing to consider in the future. I'll check their website to see what I can do there. And then there's another pool that's deeper than the main pool – also smaller – and they have several boards there, and two diving towers. Five metres, and three metres, I think. It's purely for jumping – and I saw a sign that there are diving lessons available. Imagine how weird it must be to dive in a pool!" She had laughed.

"So, you'll be going there again?" Catherine had asked.

"Yes, definitely," Camille had answered. "I checked the map and everything, and it's actually fairly close to my new place, so that's really handy, isn't it!"

She had gone on to explain that she'd start her internship on the following Monday and that she hoped everything would go well. "I'll be in Barnet - honestly, I have no idea what it will be like," she said. "I have asked around, and one woman in my course said that one of her colleagues was there last year and said it was okay. Another colleague of hers had not liked it so much there – he had been there for several years, as a sergeant, and decided to get a transfer because he didn't get along with the DI that came three years ago. Claire said that he's a very self-confident type, and the DI didn't seem to like that too much. That doesn't bode well, does it? I mean, I'm not exactly mousy. I'll have to try and keep my temper under control, I suppose…"

Catherine had laughed and said "You'll just have to remember it's not forever, _mon coeur_. It's pointless to argue with people who are only in your life for a few weeks."

There had been a pause in their conversation before Catherine had started to speak again - tentatively – and asked "You haven't…"

Camille had cut her off abruptly. "No," she had said firmly – without waiting for her mother to finish her question. "No, I haven't. And I won't. He's had all the time in the world to… oh, you know. I don't want to talk about it. Whatever will be, will be – if he… I mean, if we happen to bump into one another… then I can't help it. But I won't do anything to find him. Not yet – I don't have time for that right now. Ask me again when I'm finished with the course, I might think differently then, but for the moment… no."

Catherine had rolled her eyes in despair. She knew that Camille still had feelings for Richard – all kinds of feelings, actually, and strong ones... And she wanted her to find closure. It drove her batty that Camille was so mulish and didn't want to seek him out to clarify things between them.

But she had known that she had been defeated for the moment.

So, after a moment of silence, she had started to talk about something different and told Camille a little about the recent events on Saint Marie. She hadn't talked about Humphrey and his antics because she had known that Camille didn't want to hear about him, but she had mentioned that Florence had integrated well, and that there was a new officer named JP Hooper who now lived at her – Catherine's – place because he hadn't had any accommodation on the island. And she also said that Dwayne had mentioned that he missed her and hoped she was doing well in the UK.

"Awww, shucks…" Camille had been touched and responded "Tell him that I'm doing okay and that I miss him, too. He'd go bonkers here, though – everyone is so accurate and meticulous, it can be a pain in the behind!"

She had then promised to get in touch again over the next weekend and let her know about her first week in Barnet, and with that, she had said goodbye and hung up.

Catherine didn't want to interfere too much with Camille's life, but she felt that Camille should really try and see Richard some time… even if it was only to find out that the spell he had apparently cast on her had fizzled out and vanished. For well over two years, Camille had lived with the memory of Richard – maybe it would do her good to see what had become of him. Oh well. Maybe they'd meet by coincidence. There was a chance for that, given that they both worked in the same organisation and the same city…

As she had said to Jennifer, they'd give it some time, and if nothing had happened by spring, they'd have to think of a plan.

For the moment they both had agreed on just nagging their respective offspring… by talking about Richard's assignment on Saint Marie, by mentioning details or asking questions… That way they made sure that neither Camille nor Richard could forget and move on – they knew their children well enough to say with certainty that the constant nagging would wear them out in the long run, and given their assumption that they still cared about one another, they would be likely to try and find each other… And if nothing happened, they'd find a way to force them. Kindly and inconspiciously, of course – but they wouldn't let them get away. They would have to meet somehow.

* * *

Camille's first day at the Barnet Police Station wasn't particularly spectacular – in fact, she felt it was a bit of a let-down.

Superintendent Angela Tyler turned out to be a fairly unremarkable woman in her late 50s – she wore a white blouse and a dark trouser suit, her hair was short, wavy and mouse-blond with a few grey streaks. She greeted Camille with a friendly, but slightly absent-minded smile. The questions she asked were to the point, though, and after a short conversation she got up and said "Right, Sergeant Bordey, I'd suggest you go right 'in medias res' – let me introduce you to the team, and then you'll meet DI Henderson – you'll be reporting to her – and we'll take it from there."

The team consisted of several sergeants and constables, some of them in uniform, others in plainclothes. Some were indifferent, but most were friendly. The youngest of the constables, Parker, a girl in her early 20s, flashed Camille a radiant smile and said that it was exciting to see a new face around the station – which caused her neighbour to give her an elbow nudge. Camille couldn't help but smile back, though – this was very encouraging for a start.

It turned out to be the only positive thing of the day.

From the moment she met DI Henderson, she knew she wouldn't have much fun here. DI Henderson was a plump woman in her late 30s, not all that much older than Camille. Like her supervisor, she wore a dark trouser suit and a white blouse – the only difference in attire was that she wore a light blue scarf instead of the necklace that Superintendent Tyler wore. She eyed Camille suspiciously – the black chinos and the dark green turtleneck didn't seem to please her too much. She also looked critically at her new sergeant's hair – Camille had tied it up in a ponytail – and the exquisite golden emerald studs that she wore…

Camille felt that she made her uncomfortable, for whatever reason. And as the day went by, she realised this was not going to be easy. She was polite and respectful, and she tried hard to keep her tongue under control, but DI Henderson just was such a fusspot that she found it hard not to lose her temper. On one hand, she explained everything overly elaborately, on the other hand, she was impatient. Camille sensed that it was insecurity, and she decided it was best to just keep quiet and not ask too much.

The team was fine – she got on well with everybody, and she even had lunch with Parker and a few others that day. Obviously, Henderson wasn't so impressed with that – she made a scathing remark about 'fraternising with the plebeians'. Camille shrugged it off – it seemed that Henderson had a problem with people being friendly.

But whatever she did, Henderson found something to pick on. The tasks she gave Camille were primitive, and on the next day, she made her go to the archives, look for old files and insist on her looking through them by a certain time so she couldn't go to lunch with Parker and the others.

Camille felt that Henderson was watching her every move, and she realised that the time until Christmas would not be much fun.

On the afternoon of the third day, she had an argument with Henderson about a detail of a case that had landed on her desk earlier that morning. Camille had been excited to get involved in an actual case – it had something to do with drug dealing – and she had been curious to see how Henderson would handle it. But she wasn't convinced Henderson saw it from the right angle. It all started with a 'difference in opinion', and when Camille asked Henderson to explain her viewpoint and back it up with arguments, Henderson exploded and called her an impudent nobody.

Needless to say, this didn't go down too well with Camille. One word gave the next, and although the door to the office was closed, the entire team knew that something was going on, and when Henderson yanked the door open to sweep from the room into the corridor, everyone took cover from her behind the next available piece of furniture. But Henderson didn't pay any attention – she sailed right into Superintendent Tyler's office and shut the door with a bang.

Camille sank down on the next best wheelie chair, totally dumbfounded, and stared on the desk in front of her for a few minutes. She knew she had blown it… This would not be tolerated, she would be evicted.

But well, she'd not be defeated. She squared her shoulders and got on her feet, just when Constable Parker appeared in the corridor. She gave Camille a sympathetic look and said "She's gone. I bet she'll call in sick tomorrow. The Superintendent wants to see you now."

With heavy steps, Camille made her way to Tyler's office, ready to have her head ripped off.

When she entered the office, the Superintendent looked up from the papers in front of her and said with the same friendly, absent-minded smile that Camille had seen a few days before already "Ah, Sergeant Bordey… please have a seat."

Camille reluctantly sat down – she would have preferred to stand while listening to her death warrant.

Much to her surprise, though, Tyler kept smiling at her. After a moment she said "I apologise to you, Sergeant Bordey. I had been worried that this might happen, but I had wanted to give DI Henderson another chance. It's not the first time that she's had – er – problems with other staff members. Unfortunately, you can never tell what triggers her – er – issues. She has been stable for a while now, so I thought we could accept another intern again. Sadly, I have misjudged the situation. I cannot fathom what it is that made DI Henderson have a go at you – I have certainly observed both of you, and while you can – er – come across as a little – er – _brash_ , for lack of a better word, I don't think you were being insubordinate. You did the right thing by challenging DI Henderson and asking her to back up her viewpoint – this is what a DS has to do during an investigation and when discussing a case. So, please don't think it's your fault."

Camille just stared at her. She remembered to keep her mouth shut, but she was totally gobsmacked. Tyler continued "DI Henderson is a good officer, but she needs professional help. Since this wasn't the first time that something like this has happened, I'll have to report it, but please rest assured – I'll make it entirely clear that it was not your fault, so it will not show up in _your_ records. For now, DI Henderson is on leave – she will see her doctor tomorrow, and I can safely say that she won't return this week. So, for the next two days, you will work with DI Young and his team. After that, you will be transferred to another station – DI Young has a lot on his plate already and says he cannot take care of an intern at this stage – which is totally understandable. I had hoped you could go to the Colindale Police Station which is also here in Barnet, but I've been told they already have an intern there and cannot possibly cope with another one as they are understaffed. Don't worry, though – I will find a good place for you. It's important to me that you won't have any disadvantage from this all, so I'll do my best to arrange a new place for you. I will let you know by Friday which station you'll be assigned to, and you'll go there from Monday on – at least I hope so. If not, then it will be Tuesday."

For a moment, Camille was speechless. This seemed so unreal! Then she stuttered "Thank you, Superintendent Tyler – I don't know what to say… I'm sorry that I'm causing you so many problems…"

Tyler raised her eyebrows and said a little stiffly "No reason to apologise, Sergeant Bordey – as I said, it wasn't your fault. You have been doing excellent work so far, and you also seem to fit in well with the team. I'm actually sorry to lose you because you seem to have quite some potential, but I'm afraid there's no way around it. I have to ensure that you get the best possible training, and I cannot guarantee for that at the moment, so it's best that you get transferred to another station with more capacities…"

She got up, and Camille felt prompted to do the same. "Right, Sergeant… I'll see you tomorrow then, and I hope you won't take the whole incident to heart."

With a slight nod, she indicated that the 'audience' was finished, and Camille turned around to leave the office, totally flabbergasted. She hadn't expected that…

But then she realised what it meant, and a smile grew on her face. She wouldn't have to deal with Henderson - hooray! And maybe the other station would be closer to where she lived, and she wouldn't have to commute for so long after her move… With some luck, it would be a mixed team again, and maybe she'd be transferred to a station that had other interns as well, so she wouldn't be so lonely… One thing was sure, whatever her new supervisor would be like – he or she couldn't be any worse, more paranoid or more difficult than Henderson!

At least she hoped so! Well, she'd survive somehow – that much was sure.


	4. Dealing with Disaster

Chapter 4 – Dealing with Disaster

It was the weekend again, and as every Saturday morning over the past few weeks, Richard looked out of the window – this time it was the bedroom window. He hadn't even showered yet as he had figured that he'd go for a run before breakfast – and then he'd shower afterwards. But at the sight that he got presented outdoors, he sighed. He was obviously doomed – it rained again. Well, so far for his fancy plans to go for a lengthy run today! Obviously, it had to be swimming again this weekend. He got dressed, packed his swimming bag, and a few minutes later, he left the house. He'd have a good hot shower at the pool before going into the water, and hopefully, that would wash away all his misery.

As he walked to the bus stop, he got into thinking… Maybe, with some luck, he'd get to see the mysterious woman in the red swimsuit again – and if not, he'd get some exercise at least and recharge his batteries. He really needed that today!

This week everything seemed to go wrong. He felt like he was trapped in some bad TV programme and couldn't get out of it.

On Tuesday, he had finally plucked up the courage to do a little research and look up the Saint Marie Police Force on the net. Not that it had been overly complicated – he had just never given it a shot. Whenever he had been tempted before, he had quickly found something to distract him from looking into it. He didn't want to know…

Why bother when you had left this part of your life behind, anyway? That had been his 'official' pretext, but the truth was that he had always been scared of what he might find out and how he would react to it. If Camille was still there, seeing her name would just open old wounds, and if she wasn't, he'd surely get into speculating, and that wouldn't do him good, either. But after all the reminiscing about Saint Marie, he had felt that maybe it was time to find out so he could obtain closure and heal properly.

In hindsight, it had probably been a bad idea to check out the site… He had felt rather unsettled afterwards. No, 'unsettled' didn't describe it – he had been devastated and distraught.

Actually, the staff list (not accessible for the public, for good reasons) had shocked him – the only familiar name on it – apart from Selwyn Patterson's - was Dwayne's.

He had certainly heard about his successor, Humphrey Goodman, although he didn't know him personally. His father was a well-known barrister, and Richard had heard a couple of weird stories about Goodman – in how far they were true, he didn't know, though. He was always cautious with gossip – people tended to exaggerate, so he didn't believe everything he heard.

There were two more new names on the list, Detective Sergeant F. Cassell, and Constable JP Hooper. There were short, gender-neutral bullet-point CVs on the internal site, along with the personal e-mail addresses of each officer, but no pictures – that was common, even for internal sites. There were even stricter rules for the public sites… Police stations were strongly discouraged to have staff photos on their websites, for obvious reasons. For the same reasons, there were only general e-mail addresses available for the public – personal e-mail addresses were not disclosed.

It had taken Richard a moment to digest that Camille obviously was gone – and Fidel had disappeared, too. Well, Fidel was a diligent and reliable officer, and he had always been ambitious, and perhaps he had got a better offer somewhere else – but what had become of Camille? Of course, she was a qualified copper, and she had perhaps applied for a position somewhere else in the forces, but then again… she had always claimed that Saint Marie was the best place on earth and she'd never move away… So, she surely hadn't left… Why would she? She had always been happy and content there…

The thought that she might be married and living happily ever after with a family of her own on the island was somewhat disconcerting, almost tormenting… For the remainder of the day, he had walked around in a daze, and the throbbing of the dull pain he had been feeling for so long when he had thought of her had turned into the sharp pain of a stabbing knife all of a sudden.

That evening, he had sat in his living room, in the dark, and slowly finished a bottle of wine he had opened the week before for just one glass, while listening to a Rachmaninov piano concerto – and then to bits of Tchaikovsky's 'Swan Lake'. He had had his headphones on and turned up the volume to drown out all his thoughts and feelings. However… that hadn't stopped his eyes from getting wet and brimming over, and it hadn't stopped the knife from turning in his heart. He hadn't wanted to _think_ , but he couldn't stop himself from _feeling_ … and he had felt terribly lost and lonely. All hope had vanished – he hadn't realised that - against all odds - he had somehow hoped that a miracle would happen… What that could be, he hadn't known – but now that he felt so hopeless, he realised that he had never entirely given up on his dream…

Eventually, he had fallen asleep in his armchair, too tired to move when the music had ended and the bottle had been emptied.

Of course, the only noticeable effect had been that he had woken up on the next morning with a bad taste in his mouth, red-rimmed eyes and the most terrible hangover he had ever experienced in his entire life (at least he had found out now that three _very_ generous glasses of wine were more than he could handle, he thought morosely as he brushed his teeth, appalled by his sallow complexion and the deep bags under his eyes) – paired with a lot of work, that hadn't been too great. He had had the headache from hell, his stomach had acted up, and he had generally felt 'off' and miserable. He couldn't eat lunch because he'd felt so awful, and by the end of his workday, he had felt so horrible that he had wanted to hide under a rock and never come out again.

He had had two minor arguments with his superintendent on Wednesday, and he had almost incinerated his mouth when he had been too impatient for his tea to cool off a little and drunk it too hastily.

On top of all this, on Thursday, one of his DIs had called in sick – with a broken leg. He'd be out of work for at least four to six weeks. It had been a silly accident, of course. Harrison was full of remorse, but well… what could you do?

That had meant that Richard had had to re-assign tasks to others - and he would have to find a way to take care of Harrison's current case.

In short, Richard was not a happy bunny… Not at all.

* * *

It had been a taxing week for Camille, and so she had struggled a bit to get out of her bed on Saturday morning, but she had promised herself to go swimming again, so she had made an effort and pulled herself together. It had been worth it – there had only been about ten or twelve other people in the pool, and she had managed to swim a little longer this time. She felt that she was getting stronger already – since she had stopped going to the gym when she had left Saint Marie, she had mostly been walking and done a little bit of running, but swimming was a different form of workout again, and it did her good to have a little variety.

She was slightly worried about how the next week would pan out for her. What if the new station wasn't any better? She didn't know yet where she'd go – Superintendent Tyler had let her know on Friday that she would stay at Barnet until Monday evening at least – she had been talking with HR, and they had mentioned two other stations that could perhaps take another intern, but so far nothing had come out of the talks. HR had promised to contact the stations, but until Friday afternoon, nothing had come out of it.

Well, she'd see what Monday would bring – but she honestly was a little concerned now. She had been so much looking forward to working on real cases again, to dealing with actual people and having responsibility, and then it had all fallen to pieces – and there was no guarantee that she'd be more welcome at another station.

However, it was pointless to waste too much energy on wondering and pondering. She couldn't take influence, anyway, so she'd best just accept that and go with the flow, as hard as it might be.

After she had finished swimming, Camille climbed out of the water and wrung out her hair. It had grown quite a bit over the past few months, and she knew it would suffer from swimming in chlorinated water, so she wondered if she should perhaps trim it a little over the weekend. As she grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her body, her eyes fell on the diving towers. Three metres she had done before, and that had been fun, but five metres – that would be a first. Considering that the jumping pool was three metres deep, you were eight metres over the bottom of the pool – looking down into an 'abyss' like that could be a bit scary.

But then again – it was tempting to give it a try. She had jumped into waterfall pools from cliffs back home on Saint Marie, and although she wasn't entirely sure about the height of the cliffs, she figured it might have been three to four metres, plus the waterfall pools were between three and four metres deep, so it hadn't been too different from this. She thought of all the things she had done in her life so far and figured it wouldn't hurt to add this to the list.

So, she hung the towel back on the rack and approached the jumping pool…

* * *

Richard stood in the water, at the other end of the swimming pool, staring incredulously at the woman climbing up the ladder to the five metres diving tower. It was the mysterious woman in the bright red swimsuit again, and obviously she was either extremely brave or extremely crazy – he couldn't quite make up his mind which was more likely. Maybe she was both? The mere thought of having to jump into a gaping hole full of water scared him out of his wits – and he wouldn't do it for all the tea in China (which meant quite something for a tea lover like him…). Although, naturally, a hole full of water was considerably better than a plain empty hole, all things considered… Still, this was crazy.

He could see her climbing up and up and up… there she was, on the top, and then she moved to the edge of the board. Most people he had seen jumping from diving towers had basically held their nose and jumped, feet first. Others had taken a run up and jumped – again, feet first. But this woman was incredible. He could see her elegant silhouette as she stood there for a moment – right at the edge of the board – then she threw back her hair once again, graciously lifted her arms… and then, in a smooth movement, she jumped, taking a header.

Richard was fascinated – and absolutely petrified at the same time. He couldn't imagine doing something like that – and she had done it so effortlessly… Before he had recovered from his daze, the woman had climbed out of the water again, and without looking back, she grabbed her towel and left.

As he dived in again, he wondered if he was going insane. He admitted to himself that a main reason for going swimming again this morning had indeed been curiosity – he had been curious if the mysterious woman in red was there again, or if her appearance last week had been a one-off. From the distance, she had looked so much like Camille – considering how much pain he had gone through because of Camille, it seemed weird that he was so keen on seeing someone who resembled her. Was he perhaps a masochist?

For the next ten laps he chided himself for being a complete moron. For being so obsessed with Camille. For having checked the website of the Saint Marie Police Force. For drowning his pain, frustration and despair in a bottle of wine afterwards. For wondering how she might be. For not being able to let go…

Why, oh why had the memory of her come back to haunt him like this? She had been able to let go, too – why couldn't he do the same? Why couldn't he just forget her?

But after a while, the rhythmic, steady movement did its magic, and he forgot everything that was going on outside of the water. Gratefully, he noticed how he was floating along, how he was becoming one with the water, how he was getting lighter and almost weightless… This was why he had always liked swimming – it set him free.

Refreshed, he finally left the pool and got on with his day. This swim had given him new energy, and he did his chores easily and cheerfully today. In the late afternoon, he sat in his living room and had a look at the files he had taken home, and what had seemed odd and complicated before, suddenly seemed to fall into place…

* * *

It was Monday, and the new week didn't start off too well for Superintendent Jack Morris. Not only had one of his DIs called in sick with a broken leg last week – no, DCI Poole kept pestering him with going on and on about how his team couldn't manage without additional support, how difficult it would be to re-distribute tasks and how he was sure they couldn't meet the deadlines for the projects they had prepared with the other station in the borough, Holloway.

Around noon, Morris felt and heard his stomach rumble, and he knew what that meant. With a frown, he took out his medication and poured himself another glass of water. Just when he had taken another tablet and washed it down with water, the phone rang. He frowned when he recognised the number – that did not bode well…

With resigned sigh, he picked up the phone and said, forcing himself to smile so his voice wouldn't sound quite as frustrated as he was currently feeling, "Oh, hello, Angela!"

What followed then didn't really make him feel any better. He listened to Angela Tyler's long tirade about her useless and difficult DI, about the complications that HR caused with their inability to get things accomplished, and about how she had no idea what to do with the intern who had been assigned to her station.

He tried to sound interested and helpful and asked "Why don't you just let her go to Colindale?"

He shouldn't have done that. Another tirade followed, about how Colindale never took more than one intern – out of principle – and how they already had one and wouldn't help her out of the pinch she was in.

Jack Morris began to doodle aimlessly on the notepad on his desk as he tried to throw in an occasional "Ah, I see" or mumble "Hm" where it seemed the appropriate thing to say. Good grief, as if it wasn't bad enough already, this woman went on and on to whine and yammer about how hard it was to be a superintendent – as if he didn't know that... After several minutes of listening (or rather: pretending to listen) to her complaints, he was ready to finish the conversation and tell her to go and jump into a lake.

Then she said something that piqued his interest, though. "This woman has lots of potential, and I would love to keep her at the station, but there's just no way I can do that. She's served for several years already and seems _very_ capable of doing things on her own – I'm sure she could deal with stuff independently – but I'm not allowed to let her do that, as you know. I have no DI to look after her at the moment. Young can't take her under his wings because he already has so much on his plate, so…" – after that, Morris didn't really listen any more, but tried to craft a reply that would not sound too eager, but not too disinterested, either.

He didn't want her to think he was too eager because then she would go on and on about how she was doing him a favour and how he would have to return the favour some day. Sounding too disinterested wouldn't be good, either, because then… well, then he wouldn't get what he wanted.

So he tried "You know, Angela, I can relate to your difficulties - I have trouble here as well. One of my DIs has called in sick and will be gone for quite a while – broke his leg, you know. I have no idea how the others can compensate for his absence, particularly since several people will go on holidays soon. And then, there's my DCI, running amok because he sees his hopes being dashed – he's busy organising a project with Holloway, and he had hoped Harrison could take over a few tasks in that project – and now Harrison is in hospital, so it's all really difficult. People aren't overly willing to put in overtime – there's one person whose child just started school, and she insists on going home punctually so she can help him to get his homework done, another one just got married and doesn't want to put off his new wife, yet another one has a health problem and sees an acupuncturist regularly who has the weirdest hours so she cannot stay longer on particular days… my head is reeling with all the extra things and special treatment people keep asking for… I don't get anybody to step in from HR, and all my appeals remain unheard. And on top of that, I can feel another gastritis coming up."

Here, his voice broke off, indicating mild despair. He felt it was dramatic enough already and hoped she'd take the bait.

She did - and said softly and sympathetically "Oh, Jack – I'm so sorry to hear that… this must be really hard for you. You'd need someone who'd be dedicated and eager to help, but I know what it's like – they all just want things to go _their_ way, nobody is really willing to put in an effort any more. Having said that, the intern I just mentioned is very eager to work – she says she wants to learn and take on responsibility… Of course, she's only a sergeant, but I gave her a few things to do today – as I said, Henderson is on sick leave at the moment, and I had to keep her busy somehow – and she did an _excellent_ job. Do you think you could use someone like that? Your DCI might appreciate getting some help, and I can vouch for her – she really is _very_ keen on being productive and helpful. She also seems to be pretty good when it comes to IT stuff – she has helped Young with a few things last week, and she also showed Parker – that's the baby of the team – a couple of tricks with some fairly new software. That was pretty impressive, so… I mean… maybe… If you think your DCI would be willing to give it a try with her, I'd send her over tomorrow, and you can see for yourself. Of course, it's nothing permanent, she'll only stay until the end of the year – basically. She'll start her new module in January, and she'll have a Christmas break, but at least you'd get some immediate relief, and by the new year, your DI will hopefully be back, and things will go back to normal…"

Jack Morris was almost laughing with delight. It had worked – and he'd kill two birds with one stone, how wonderful! First of all, he'd get a capable intern – from what Angela Tyler had said, she did sound like she had potential – and he knew that Tyler was hard to please, so… if she was convinced that this sergeant was competent, then she was. He'd have someone who'd be willing to learn the ropes and step in wherever it might become necessary on the station – as an intern you couldn't really parry off overtime – at least not permanently. And secondly, Poole would get off his back – he'd finally get someone to help him, and although he knew that his DCI would be anything but excited to have to deal with yet another intern, he would know that he'd have to shut up then… He already had the reputation of being difficult, he wouldn't want to add to that….

Feigning reluctance, he responded "Oh, Angela, that would be lovely, but what if HR finds another place for her? Or if she doesn't want to come here? I mean…"

Angela Tyler cut him off and said resolutely "No worries. I'll take care of that. HR have been absolutely useless so far, and I'll give them a piece of my mind, telling them that I've had to make efforts myself to find a place for her, and all that. You know that they won't have any objections then. And as far as Sergeant Bordey is concerned – I'm sure she'll be happy to have a place to go to. She's anxious to dig her teeth into some real work, and it seems you've got lots of that over there…"

So the two superintendents agreed that Sergeant Bordey would come to Islington on the next morning and start her internship there.

As she hung up, Angela Tyler rubbed her hands with delight. It had been a good idea to call Jack – he was so easy to manipulate! Like most men, come to think of it… Obviously, he hadn't even noticed how keen she had been to transplant her intern into his team…

Well, in all fairness, Bordey would have it good in Islington. Jack's DCI apparently was a bit weird, but he was also known to be very accurate, so the young sergeant would surely learn a great deal from him. She had promised to find her a good place – and she had been able to keep her promise. Bordey would also have the benefit of being trained with two other interns – that was always more convenient because you could compare notes.

Very pleased with herself, she dialled the number of Henderson's office where Camille was working on a file and asked her to come into her office.


	5. A Fresh Start

Chapter 5 – A Fresh Start

"But sir…" Richard tried again. However, it was in vain. Superintendent Jack Morris had spoken, and he wouldn't listen to any more objections and arguments. He lifted his hand and said "Now, look, Poole – you've complained that you don't have anybody to help you, and when I find someone to help you, you complain that you will have to deal with someone who's new and unfamiliar with the station and will need some guidance. Can't you just see the _positive_ side of it? This intern is eager to do real work, and she will be happy to be useful. You surely will manage to explain yourself so things will be done exactly as you want them… I know you're not keen on working with interns, but Superintendent Tyler said this sergeant is very competent, and she would have loved to keep her at Barnet, but due to her DI getting sick and the other one already having too much on his plate, that's impossible. And I don't think I have to remind you that it won't look good if you fail to cooperate efficiently with yet another intern… Last year's intern was obviously quite a disaster, but it takes two to get into a conflict like that, and you know that your – er – somewhat – er – demanding attitude didn't help there…"

Richard sighed. He knew that Morris had a point there, although he didn't like being reminded of it. His social skills had never been remarkably good, and with his behaviour towards last year's intern, he had certainly proved that once again. He had truly not delivered a masterpiece there… And part of being a DCI was also leading a team and getting on with people. He _had_ become better – his experiences on Saint Marie had helped him – but he still had difficulties. He knew that he was too much of a loner, and people didn't understand why he wanted them to be so accurate, so precise… and he couldn't make them see why it was so important. He really needed to work on that… But another intern? Heaven help him…

So, he decided to put a good face on the matter and said "Okay, sir. I'll do my best. So, when will he arrive?"

Morris – who had already turned his attention to his tea again – looked up and said "Oh, it's 'she', Poole. I said so, didn't I? I'm sure I did. Well, she'll show up tomorrow morning, between 8.30 and 9 a.m., that's what Superintendent Tyler said. She'll be particularly assigned to you, and you'll be responsible for her training. Please try to be positive about it – I'm sure all will be fine."

With that, he gave his DCI to understand that his time was up, and Richard got up and left, closing the door with a soft click. Jack Morris took up his cup and smiled, revelling in the scent of the freshly brewed hot tea. Everything would work out, he was sure about that. Poole was warned now that if he didn't make efforts to get on with the intern, this would have consequences and find its way into his file, and he would try to avoid this at all cost. Of course, he was upset now, but he'd calm down again, and in the end, all would pan out well.

* * *

Richard wasn't only upset, he was literally fuming. On the way into his office, he had been able to restrain his feelings by clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, but when he closed the door behind him, he was nearly screaming with frustration. Since he couldn't possibly scream, he gave the bin in his office a decidedly violent kick – just to jump forward and keep it from falling over the next second. With a frustrated sigh, he sat down and stared at the calendar on the wall… It featured a photo of Durham cathedral, but he had no eyes for the beautiful architecture displayed on the picture.

They already had two interns at the station, and he couldn't see that they were doing anything useful so far. Granted, only one was in his department – and yes, he seemed fairly capable, although… just how capable he really was remained to be seen. You couldn't say much after a few days. He hadn't seen much of the other one as he was in another section but honestly, why would the station need a third one? He needed someone _competent_. Someone _reliable_. He was already juggling too many different things – he didn't want to look after an intern and play babysitter. Yes, sure, they all were sergeants, so they should know what they were doing, but he had heard the ominous remark "at my old station, we do it differently" all too often. People just weren't flexible.

And how nasty of Morris to remind him of the clashes he had had with that other intern and threaten him to put it down in his file if it happened again. It hadn't been his fault that last year's intern had been such an idiot. Yes, admittedly, he hadn't been particularly patient with him, but still… oh well. Maybe it _had_ been partly his fault – he hadn't controlled his temper. He'd have to make more of an effort this time…

He buried his head in his hands for a moment when he remembered another detail that Morris had mentioned – the new intern was female… He knew that would mean trouble…

Could it get any worse?

* * *

Camille checked her reflection once more in the tube's windows. She wore a black-and-white coat in a hound's tooth check, together with black trousers and sensible black shoes. A scarf was wrapped around her neck, and she wore fingerless mittens along with a Basque beret – all her accessories were bright red. Underneath she wore a black turtleneck pullover, and a bright red brooch, shaped like a rose, was fixed to the the roll collar.

She hoped it wouldn't be considered too overdressed or extravagant. However, she just couldn't stand the dark trouser suits and white blouses she had seen so often – as a Detective you didn't have to wear a uniform, yet the dark suits and ties that the men wore and the dark trouser suits and white blouses that the women wore looked exactly like that - _uniforms_.

Camille admitted to herself that she was a little nervous, although Superintendent Tyler had reassured her that she would be fine in Islington.

She had said "Jack Morris is a very, very friendly man, Sergeant Bordey, and I have never heard anything negative about him from others. I'm sure you'll fit in nicely. You would have fit in nicely here, too – it's just unfortunate that DI Henderson – er… you know… But don't worry, Islington is a really good place, and I know that they have other interns, so that might be better for you, anyway…"

Well, she had a point there, but still… Camille knew that she wouldn't get a third chance. She'd _have_ to get on well in this station, or her reputation would be ruined forever. She knew only too well how quickly gossip could spread, and she didn't want to give it any additional fodder. It was bad enough that she'd be known as the intern who made DI Henderson have a nervous breakdown – she couldn't afford another disaster like that.

At least, it was easier to get to Islington, particularly after her move to Stanmore it would be a lot more convenient than having to travel to Barnet. The tube connection was much better, so that was a bonus. She was glad about that – she hadn't been too excited at the prospect of spending nearly three hours on public transport every day.

As she got off the tube and stepped out on the street, she tried to orientate… There was a Boots ahead of her, and Superintendent Tyler had also mentioned there was at least one supermarket not too far from the station, so that was good to know… she might have to do her grocery shopping around here every once in a while. There were plenty of places to grab food, but she had prepared a salad for lunch and taken along a container with dressing as well in her satchel. If an option for going out to lunch came up, she could always eat it for dinner at home, but she had wanted to be prepared.

She squared her shoulders and marched off in direction of the station, relying on what she had figured out on the map – she had her phone ready, too, where she had installed a mapping app, but she didn't really want to rely too much on it at this point. It would be better to train her sense of orientation…

At the entrance of the station, she presented her intern ID, and the lady in the glass cubicle checked her list and nodded. Her satchel was run through security check, then the officer phoned Superintendent Morris and informed him that his new intern was there, gave Camille directions on how to find her new working place and sat down again to continue doing her crossword puzzle. For a moment, she was reminded of Richard – she hadn't forgotten his obsession for crossword and sudoku puzzles. Instantly, she shoved the memory away. She did not want to think of him – this was all part of the past…

As she entered the department, she noticed that she was checked out by several people – not too openly, but still… A young woman in uniform approached her and asked "Can I help you?" Camille had just replied that she was supposed to meet Superintendent Morris when a door opened and a tall, lanky man stepped into the corridor. He didn't have much hair, but an impressive grey moustache adorned his face – its ends were hanging down a little which gave him a bit of a sad air. His skin was slightly yellowish, and he showed an ailing expression on his face.

His voice, though, was surprisingly firm and sonorous. He had overheard her response and now said "Ah – Sergeant Bordey! There you are! Thank you, Collins – I'll take care of this…" – and with that, he came up to Camille, extended his hand to her and said "I'm Superintendent Jack Morris – and – er – oh, come in, come in…" – he gestured in direction of the open door, and Camille followed his invitation, not without flashing him a charming smile that didn't fail to take an effect on her new supervisor.

Constable Collins didn't have a chance to eavesdrop, so she returned to her desk, a little disappointed. She would have _loved_ to be a fly on the wall during the forthcoming conversation. Everybody in the department knew that DCI Poole would be in charge of the new intern, and it was no secret that he wasn't too excited about the whole thing. He had walked around with a gloomy face all afternoon yesterday.

Personally, Constable Collins didn't mind DCI Poole at all – he was perhaps a little eccentric, but last year, he had been very kind to her when he had learnt that her dog had died, and that had helped her a lot. She had sat at her desk, trying to stifle the tears, and nobody had talked to her. She had been rather new at the station, and she hadn't made any friends yet. DCI Poole had passed her desk on the way out for his lunch break – he often went a little later than the others - and noticed how she had been sniffling and dabbing her eyes. He had stopped and asked if anything was the matter, and she had blurted out that Mikey had died the night before – and of course, the tears had come again. He had shifted from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable, but then he had said softly "I'm sorry to hear this, Collins. It's hard to lose a friend, I know. But he lives on in your memory, the sadness will slowly move to the background, and one day you'll wake up and only remember the good times – with – er - gratitude that he's been a part of your life."

She had never forgotten this. It had been the most personal thing she had ever heard from him – and while he had appeared unapproachable until then, this small incident had made him incredibly human, and of all the things people had said to her, this had been the most comforting approach. He had never said anything personal to her again or made efforts to chat with her – it was like nothing had ever happened. But it _had_ changed the way she looked at him. She had always thought he was cold and indifferent – his remark had shown her that neither was the case. It had been a fabulous lesson of 'never judge a book by the cover' – she had realised that he was reserved and private, and his people skills were maybe not particularly well developed, but to her, he had been kind…

As it was, he could be somewhat impatient with people, and he could get rather unpleasant when he was not satisfied with his team's achievements or in general when something wasn't going the way he had wanted it to go. Collins had heard from quite a few people how hard he was to please, how difficult he was and how fastidious he could be. He seemed to be particularly impatient and difficult with women – although she herself had never been exposed to his idiosyncrasies.

Well, maybe this all was due to lack of practice. Everyone knew that he was single, and nobody had ever seen him with a woman.

She felt a little sorry for the new intern, but maybe she was as smart as she looked and would manage to satisfy his demands.

* * *

Camille had to suppress a smile as she sat opposite Superintendent Morris – he was clearly going out of his way to be charming and obliging – but really, what a sad sight he was with this moustache! However, she really couldn't complain about his manners. He had offered her tea at least twice, and there had been a lot of benevolent chit-chat regarding her professional career so far – he had obviously hardly looked at her CV before now although Superintendent Tyler had e-mailed him a copy already on Monday.

"Well – er – Sergeant Bordey… the thing is, we are short of a DI at the moment – poor Harrison has broken his leg last week – very disobliging, but what can you do! – and since your stay here is – er – more or less – er – unscheduled, we're not really prepared, but I hope that won't put you off. Our excellent DCI has – er - agreed to take care of you – there are a few projects where you'll support him, and you will certainly also help with the incoming cases, see witnesses for interrogations, and – er… well, just be a part of the team, I think…. Since you have served for a couple of years already, you might be able to do things independently – as I understand from your CV, you have already managed a police station on your own for a month or so and also stepped in when your – er – supervisor was on holidays, so that will be helpful. Also, I see that your background – I mean, coming from overseas and having been part of the French and the British system - might make you look at things differently – which is a good thing… mostly. It's helpful when someone can think outside the box. Of course, we have to follow certain procedures here, but – er… well, I'm confident that you'll fit in nicely…"

Although she got the impression that this was all a little random, and there was no real plan, she smiled sweetly and said "I'll do my very best, Superintendent Morris. I'm here to learn, you know…" She could only hope that this mysterious DCI wasn't a fusspot, a choleric type or a paranoiac. Or worse – all of that packed into one. Usually, she adapted quickly to people and their work rhythms, but the clashes with Henderson had showed her that there were lots of potential pitfalls she hadn't considered when she had started this course. She wanted to learn – but preferably without having to walk on eggshells all the time.

She exchanged a few more niceties with Superintendent Morris, then he picked up the handset of his phone and said "If you don't have any further questions, I suppose I'd better introduce you to your supervisor…"

He dialled a number and said "Ah – er – yes, she's here now, so if you don't mind – yes, thanks."

Half a minute later, there was a knock on the door. Camille – who was sitting to the door with her back – suppressed the urge to turn around – she knew it would be perceived as curious or brash if she did so, so she waited until Morris got up and said jovially "Ah, there you are… "

He made a prompting gesture towards Camille, so she got up and turned around – and nearly fainted as she looked into green eyes… those eyes that she had never forgotten, eyes that had come to haunt her so many times over the past years, eyes that were now looking at her - clearly in shock and panic, reflecting her own feelings.

She heard Superintendent Morris say from far away "Let me introduce your new supervisor, DCI Poole… you'll work with him and report to him directly… Poole, this is your new intern, Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey. I trust you'll take good care of her…"

Automatically, Camille extended her hand; she felt how the man in front of her took it and shook it lightly - murmuring a hardly audible 'Good to see you, Sergeant Bordey' - and then let go again as if he had been burnt. It was clear that he was totally aghast, and she instantly understood that he hadn't had a clue about her being the new intern. Camille managed a nod and a dazed 'Enchantée…' She didn't even notice that she had switched to French.

Superintendent Morris watched the scene with some surprise – this was not what he had expected. Normally, women didn't react that dramatically to DCI Poole.

Poole was not really what you'd consider a stunner, although he didn't have to hide under a rock, either. He was a fairly average middle-aged man, with a medium build and slightly thinning hair – so there was nothing spectacular about him. But perhaps Sergeant Bordey just wanted to be careful and behave appropriately. He knew from Angela Tyler that she wasn't the kind of person who'd let anyone get the better of her – she could clearly stand up for herself – however, after the experiences with DI Henderson, she was perhaps more cautious now and tried to make a good first impression.

He was interested to see that Poole looked completely flabbergasted, but he couldn't quite figure out why… Everyone would have been completely smitten with Bordey, of course, but although Poole wasn't the type who'd show his rapture too openly – let alone come up with a charm offensive to impress his counterpart - he was clearly thunderstruck now. And it was more than just being impressed with Bordey – there was a hint of incredulousness and despair in his eyes.

This was very interesting, and he was curious to find out what was behind all this.

But he was quickly enlightened - Poole said "Thank you very much, sir… but I can't be… I can't work with Sergeant Bordey. She was my sergeant when I served in the Caribbean, and we… I cannot be her supervisor here. I'm – er - biased."

Camille turned around and said "That's right, sir… we worked together for more than two years on Saint Marie…"

If either of them had hoped that Superintendent Morris would decide now that they shouldn't be working together again because Poole wasn't unbiased and would be partial in his assessment, they had been mistaken – he was much too relieved to have his staff problems solved to think about possible complications now.

Much to Richard's and Camille's surprise, he smiled broadly and said cheerfullly "Oh, that's brilliant! So there won't be any warming up phase, and you know you'll get on with one another. Splendid. What a relief! I'm glad to hear that – it will make everything so much easier. Well, I suppose you're eager to exchange all sorts of news and chat about the past now, so I'd suggest you'll take Sergeant Bordey to your office and – er – show her around once you're done chatting! Excellent, excellent… My, what a _great_ coincidence! You'll have to tell me more about that some time, but not now…"

With that, he opened the door and shooed them out – politely, but determinedly. These two obviously were completely surprised with their sudden encounter, and he didn't want to interfere with them getting re-acquainted. This was an interesting situation! But he had been honest – he _was_ relieved that they already knew each other. They had worked together for long enough to be familiar with their respective strengths and weaknesses, and that should make their cooperation here a lot easier. And if there were issues – well, he'd just turn a deaf ear towards their potential complaints.

Not that he actually expected them to complain – they both had too much to lose, and they both knew it.

* * *

Completely dumbfounded, Camille followed Richard down the corridor to his office.

Once inside, she remained standing and watched him close the door firmly and carefully. Then he turned around to her, an unfathomable look in his eyes. A slightly crooked smile appeared on his lips as he said "So there you are. Welcome to Islington, Camille…"

His voice sounded thick and strangely broken – it mirrored Camille's feelings… she felt totally gobsmacked, too.

Her mouth was dry and her brain was empty, but she forced herself to speak. "Yes, here I am."

She knew her voice sounded brittle. So they had finally met again – she couldn't believe it. For well over two years, she had wondered on and off what it would be like if she ever got to see him again – and now that the moment had come, she felt completely empty, and none of the scenarios she had played out in her head fit into what was happening now.

Of course, she had known that there was a small chance that police work would bring them together again, and she had half-decided already to make an effort to find him once her course here was over – but _this_ … this wasn't what she had imagined. She had not imagined to be his _intern_ , his _subordinate_ , his _trainee_ …

In her imagination, she had always been either close to finishing her course or a senior officer already, on the same level, even with him – or at least _almost_ there…

She mustered him. He was the same – but no… he wasn't. He looked different… He was slimmer than he had been on Saint Marie, in better shape, obviously. His hair was longer – he didn't have it plastered on his forehead any more, it was neatly combed back – maybe in order to cover up a balding patch? With the light shining right onto it, there was a hint of auburn in it that she had never noticed before. Maybe it hadn't been so obvious back then because his hair had been shorter? And she definitely knew that the few silvery hairs that she could spot hadn't been there when she had seen him last… The lines on his forehead were deeper, the features of his face clearer, more distinctive. He looked like a slightly familiar stranger, like somebody she had used to know, like another version of the Richard Poole who had left Saint Marie back then...

But his eyes… his eyes were the same. His voice was the same. And so was the lopsided half smile that she had always found so charming and that he was now giving her again… after all this time, she finally saw it again, lighting up his face.

She felt her heart skipping a beat and her stomach trying to perform a somersault - and she swallowed hard.

In a flash she realised that _nothing_ had changed.

She was still attracted to him. It was all coming back to her – the longing, the desire, the love… all the feelings that she had thought might perhaps be dead by now, stifled by the rage, the pain and the despair… buried somewhere deep in her heart… but no, they had survived, and they were still going strong…

She didn't know what to say, what to do… and obviously he didn't, either. He just looked at her. She wondered what he saw… how he felt about her… if he had missed her…

Eventually he cleared his throat and said "You look stunning. What… has brought you here?"

Then, when she didn't answer, he suddenly seemed to realise that they were still standing there in the middle of his office, like wooden blocks in a still life, and he moved towards his desk, gestured to the visitor chair and said "Sorry. This is just so…. I don't know... unexpected, I suppose. But then again, you've always had a habit of surprising me, so I guess it's kind of… customary for our encounters to be – er – somewhat – um - unreckonable… Please sit down. Would you like something to drink? I mean, I could get you some coffee, or tea, or…"

He was desperately trying to wake up. This was a dream, wasn't it? Some weird, bizarre, strange dream…


	6. Plans and Schemes

Chapter 6 – Plans and Schemes

"Bye sir, see you tomorrow!" Richard looked up as Constable Collins greeted him and gave her a brief nod. He stood in the little kitchenette and made himself some tea. He couldn't go home yet, there was still too much work waiting in his office.

It wasn't even that he was behind with his work because he had talked extensively with Camille – actually, that hadn't happened. She had given him a brief rundown on the latest developments on Saint Marie, explained about Fidel's move to St. Lucia and described how the Commissioner had encouraged her to do the course here in the UK – "he realised that I felt a little stalled in my position there and thought I might benefit from this course… it can't hurt to expand one's horizon, you know."

After the initial shock had been overcome, they had made an effort to talk naturally, and he had started to tell her about the station as well as about the work and projects they were currently busy with. He had introduced her to the team, and then she had started looking through the files he had given her. He had felt like he was standing beside himself, watching his every move so he wouldn't betray his feelings.

He had returned to his office then, in a daze. This all felt so unreal, yet he knew that it _was_ real – and he had no idea how to deal with it.

He had sat there behind his desk for quite a while then, lost in memories… of how she had always adapted to his working rhythm, of how they had been in sync, of how they had exchanged banter and jokes… yes, it had been fun working with her back on Saint Marie. Once again, he had wondered what could have happened if he had stayed… It had been painful, yet he hadn't been able to stop himself.

And he had realised that no matter how much time had passed – he still felt the same way about her. He should have known it – the way he had reacted last week when he had assumed she was perhaps married with a family had spoken volumes…

At around 5.30, he had told her to go home. She had nodded and disappeared, not without saying goodbye, but there hadn't been any particular warmth in her behaviour… no twinkle in her eyes, no suggestive remark, nothing…

He sighed and hated himself for his weakness. He was a fool to pine for her like that. And he thought wistfully that there was truth in the saying you should be careful what you wished for… he had wished to get the chance to see her again, he had been almost obsessed with her… and now that he had seen her again, everything that had been between them had apparently never happened, they had been polite like strangers, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

Or so it seemed, at least…

How ironic – when he had left Saint Marie, it had been her who had made a move and shown him her feelings… And now, she had obviously forgotten all about it. Or maybe it embarrassed her?

Well, he hadn't got any younger, obviously. He was well aware of his thinning hair and the deepening lines in his face… Most likely, she wondered what she had ever seen in him.

As far as he was concerned, he found her even more breathtaking now than ever before. When she had stood there in front of him in Morris's office – lithen and lissom, so very beautiful in her fashionable and classy, yet unassuming attire – he had been stunned. She had always looked amazing in red… And the combination of black and red was irresistible on her. That hadn't changed… However, she seemed even slimmer than she had been on Saint Marie, her cheekbones seemed more defined, and she appeared a little more prim or 'farouche', for lack of a better word… but maybe that was only because the environment around here was more starchy and formal, so she had adapted instinctively.

And now he'd have to see her nearly every day until Christmas… He wondered how he was going to survive that. And even if they still had feelings for each other – and it seemed like a _very_ big if on her side… he was her supervisor, he would have to write a reference letter and a report on her… how would anybody take that seriously if they knew that he was attracted to her?

And, of course, would anybody take his report seriously if they knew they had worked together before, on a small Caribbean island where the climate was muggy and humid and people walked around in shorts and bikinis?

Colleagues had asked him if it was true that the non-fraternisation rules were neglected over there and had made jokes at his expense. There had been assumptions about him being surrounded by seductive island beauties – and he had had a hard time silencing the gossip and innuendos.

So, wouldn't people say that his report – which would certainly praise her (because her work _would_ be good – he knew that already… Camille had never disappointed him, and she would want to prove to him and everybody else that she was a good copper…) – wasn't neutral and objective, anyway? They'd all say he was prepossessed for her, and they'd be right – he _was_ 'parti pris'.

There was only one thing he could do: He'd have to get her out of his report line.

He knew that appealing to Morris's common sense would be useless as long as he didn't have a good alternative – Morris was just happy to have his staff issues resolved, and he didn't care one bit about Camille's report and how it might ruin everything for her – no matter what he'd write, it would always backfire one way or another.

With a frown, he turned to go back to his office. He'd think about all that later. Right now, it would do him good to delve into his work and forget about Camille for a moment…

* * *

Camille listlessly picked at her salad. She had had lunch with a few people from the team and saved her salad for dinner. The sandwich she had had for lunch had cost her an arm and a leg, and with a frown she remembered the prices over on Saint Marie – people there didn't rip off their customers like that. Of course, London also was expensive for shop-owners, rents were high, and somehow the money had to come in, but still…

She began to eat, trying not to think – but she failed miserably. It had been such a strange day, she couldn't help but replay certain scenes in her head.

It had been a shock to see Richard again – and to realise that she still felt so strongly about him. She had felt empty and numb after she had understood that time had only let her wounds heal on the surface – and that one look from him had ripped them open again. How would she survive working with him for over two months? She admitted to herself that she _had_ wanted to see him again, but not now, not like this, not as his subordinate again…

She was also disappointed with herself. Usually, she was quick at repartee, but today, she had been almost as tongue-tied as Richard had been on Saint Marie sometimes. With a crooked smile she remembered how they had been thrown together in the same fish tank for the first time… they both had gone ballistic when the Commissioner had announced that they'd have to work together. She had been grateful that Uncle Selwyn had offered her a job, but disgusted that she'd have to work with Richard…

This time, she wasn't _disgusted_ by the idea, but she was dismayed and unhappy. Not because she disliked him – this wasn't the problem this time around. No, it was the opposite: She liked him too much. And their shared experiences stood between them - all of them, but particularly the moment in his shack before he had left the island.

No, she didn't think it was a good idea to work with him. But she couldn't possibly ask for yet another transfer. Once again, she was stuck with him – and this time around it would perhaps be even more difficult to get along.

She got up to get something to drink and thought about how this all might influence the results in her course. She knew that Richard would be fair on her, but would others see it the same way? Could she talk about it with him? He hadn't appeared to be all that keen on working with her, anyway – maybe she could get an internal transfer?

If she wanted to give that a try… when should she ask for it, and how should she approach the issue? Superintendent Morris had obviously been mostly interested to get the issue of understaffing out of the way, but didn't realise the consequences this might have for her. Had it been at another station with a different supervisor, she would have been ecstatic as it would have given her an opportunity to show her competence, but here, everything she'd do could boomerang on her…

She wondered if it had been such a good idea after all to join this course. So far, it had mostly brought her financial difficulties, dissatisfying housing conditions, loneliness and bad weather… But as she had said to her mother – she had wanted it that way. She had needed to get away from Saint Marie, and career-wise, it had been a good move, she knew that in her heart. And in all honesty, it was a lot better to work for grouchy Richard than having to deal with lovesick Humphrey…

Maybe, she should just suck it up and get on with whatever would come her way. She'd wait a little to see where this all was going, and then she'd make a move. That had always worked best for her, or hadn't it?

She just didn't know how she felt at this point, so maybe she'd better sleep on it before she made a decision…

* * *

Superintendent Morris was in for a surprise when he entered the station on the next morning. Five minutes after he had arrived, DCI Poole asked for an appointment by phone. This had never happened before – usually, Poole waited in the wings until he was called, or he skulked around in the corridor, trying to waylay his supervisor… He wasn't one for direct confrontation.

Morris tried to put him off until tomorrow or the day after – he didn't really feel like coping with Poole at this point – he had had a bit of an overdose of his DCI over the past few days… all his complaints had really worn him out, and then he had presented him a perfect solution, and apparently he didn't want that, either – this man was really hard to please!

However, Richard was persistent and said it was indeed a 'very urgent matter', so his supervisor finally gave in with a sigh and asked him to come to his office at 10. "But I warn you, Poole – my gastritis is acting up, so I cannot guarantee I'll look at whatever you have in a favourable manner…"

Richard thanked him and hung up. Honestly, he couldn't care less about how his supervisor's stomach was bugging him – he had important things to discuss. He looked up as he heard a knock at the doorframe – ah, there was DI Fryer.

"You wanted to talk to me, sir?" he asked politely. "Yes, yes – er – please come in, Fryer – and close the door, please."

* * *

As Camille arrived at 9 a.m. sharp, she saw that the door to Richard's office was closed. She put down her bag and hung up her coat, then she went to wash her hands. The door was still closed when she came back… She decided to check the notes she had made about yesterday's files and sat down to go through them

She'd had a restless night – memories of how Richard had held her just before he had left Saint Marie had mixed with snippets of their recent conversation, of how he had looked at her – enigmatically…

She hadn't known what to make of his behaviour; he remained a mystery to her…

By the time she had finally got up, she had understood that he had obviously been surprised, but that didn't necessarily mean he didn't have feelings for her any more. A few times he had started a sentence, but broken off right after the first couple of words, and in hindsight it seemed to her that he had been rather confused – but that didn't mean that he didn't want anything to do with her. Once or twice there had been a particular gleam in his eyes, and when he had said that she looked stunning, his voice had been soft and almost tender. She had felt a lump in her throat as she had thought of the one and only other situation when he had said the very same words to her…

She had realised that it wasn't that she didn't want him in her life any more – quite the opposite – but she couldn't possibly approach him on casual terms as long as they worked together. That was out of the question here, anyway, but given her current status, it would be a disaster to do that. It had been different on Saint Marie; they had both been senior officers there, and the non-fraternisation rules weren't a big deal. Uncle Selwyn had once said to her that it was understandable that they had these rules in the UK where there were turf battles about who was promoted next and who'd climb the ladder faster, but on Saint Marie, things were different, and he'd turn a blind eye to romantic interludes as long as people behaved like grown-ups and were discreet.

Too bad that Richard had never taken advantage of this… For about ten minutes, while she had stood in the shower, Camille had revelled in memories of their last encounter on Saint Marie and dreams of what could have been if he hadn't been so buttoned up, but then again – that had been part of his personality back then, and it surely was part of his personality now, too. Neither of them would have changed _fundamentally_. She had realised that she hadn't made a move at him until the very last minute because she hadn't been sure about his reaction… she had thought she'd have too much to lose.

Well, she had even more to lose now. The only way out was getting away from this awkward situation by trying to get an internal transfer… so she'd stay at the station, but not in his department… then she could _perhaps_ make a new start and give him to understand – little by little and very cautiously – that she still was interested… and maybe, just maybe he'd open up, and they'd have a chance…

Ah – the door was opening! Immediately, she jumped up – she had decided that she'd take the bull by the horns, and that – while it would perhaps be difficult to talk to him - it would be inevitable, anyway, and the earlier she got it out of the way, the better.

She saw a bulky blond man in dark trousers and a blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves leaving Richard's office… he gave her a flashing smile, and she tried to remember who he was… oh yes, that was DI Fryer, she had met him the day before - and right behind him, she could see Richard, in his usual dark suit, a dress shirt and a tie that she remembered from his time on Saint Marie.

She moved forward and said urgently "Good morning… sir – I've got to speak to you…"

He glanced at his watch and said "Yes, sure, Camille – but not now. I've got to get ready for a meeting with the Superintendent… collect ammunition and revise my – er – battle plan, you know. I don't think the meeting will take longer than twenty minutes, though, so I'll be – er – happy to listen to whatever issues you might have at 10.30, if that's okay with you… or let's say 10.45, to be on the safe side."

"No, it's _not_ okay with me… I must speak to you _now_ …" she tried to insist. But she had no luck.

Richard gave her an indignant frown and said – a tad frostily - "I'm _sure_ it can wait until later, Camille. I'll see you then…"

And he nodded curtly and retreated into his office again. She was close to throwing a tantrum… How utterly rude of him! But she knew she wouldn't get anywhere if she acted up, so she restrained herself and muttered in an undertone "Being your usual annoying self again, huh…" and then added more loudly and definitely sarcastically "Thank you very much, sir" to the closing door.

Much to her surprise, the door opened again, he stuck out his head and said "I heard _all_ of that… and you are most welcome!" An instant later he was gone again.

Open-mouthed and blinking, Camille stood there when she heard someone giggle. She turned her head and saw that it was Constable Collins, a mug of coffee in her hand that she put down on Camille's desk now. In response to Camille's inquiring glance, she explained "Here's your coffee. The Chief figured you might need one and asked me to – um – provide it, so here you are… It's fairly strong, so I hope it's okay for you. Oh, and the mug is – er – a welcome gift, as the Chief said…"

The mug was bright yellow, and the dark red writing on it said 'Coffee doesn't argue – coffee understands!'

Camille couldn't help it - she just had to laugh out loud now. He was impossible!

Collins lingered for a moment, then she asked "Is it true that you have worked with him before?"

Camille nodded and said "Yes, that's right. It was during his assignment in the Caribbean."

The young constable smiled and responded "Oh, that must have been fun! And you didn't know that he's here now?"

Camille replied slowly "No… no, I had absolutely no idea. We lost touch when he moved back to the UK a while ago…"

Collins passed her a scrutinising glance and then said earnestly "He may appear demanding, but he's a very fair boss. And it may not be obvious, but he's kind."

With that, she turned to go – but stopped once more to say over her shoulder "But of course you know that already… Enjoy your coffee!"

* * *

As Richard tidied up his desk later in the afternoon, he congratulated himself to his successful little manoeuvre earlier today. He was really pleased with how everything had turned out.

On the way home last night, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about the 'Camille dilemma', as he called it. Of course, he wanted to keep her at the station – she was an excellent officer, she had lots of potential, and he knew she'd be an asset to the team.

But that was only one aspect – the more relevant thing for him personally was that he knew now that he just had to find out if he still had a chance with her, and for that, she'd have to be around… if she left, he'd never see her again, he knew that. It was a miracle that she had been transferred to his station – there were so many other places in London where she could have ended up, and the fact that she had been assigned to his workplace was like a gift, a present, a second chance.

But although he clearly wanted her to stay at the station, he didn't want them to be in a supervisor / trainee position. He couldn't possibly approach her under those circumstances.

And although he wasn't sure yet how he would approach her at all, he knew that he _wanted_ something to happen. This wasn't the time for sticking his head into the sand and hoping all would turn out for the best. That hadn't worked in the past, and it wouldn't work now. He wasn't sure how he'd go about, and he was scared he might make a mistake, but he'd have to give it a try. He knew now that if you don't go after what you want, you'll never have it, if you don't ask, the answer is always no, and if you don't step forward you'll always be in the same place… He had learnt this the hard way.

The safest bet seemed to be trying to rekindle their _friendship_ … simply by being around one another on a daily basis. He knew from experience that this could create an amazing closeness – you got familiar with one another, you learnt about each other's little quirks and habits, you moved in the same circles… all these things could have a huge impact. And then… they could take it from there. Maybe she had not forgotten how comfortable they had felt in each other's company back on Saint Marie… and they could build up on that foundation?

As he had been pondering this issue, he suddenly had remembered how Camille's mother, Catherine, had advised him to look at things from a professional angle when he had been so confused about his parents and their potential separation… she had given him the valuable hint that it might be a good idea to look at it as one of his cases – what would he do if it was a 'puzzle' he was dealing with in a case?

With a little smile, he had also remembered how she had said that there was romance in everybody's heart, even his… Well, he'd never admit it openly to others, but he knew now that Catherine had not misjudged him, although he hadn't been ready to acknowledge this back then.

After he had arrived at home and had his dinner, he had sat down to make a list of all the current cases at his department, plus the projects he had been planning together with Holloway Station and a few other things. Then he had spent quite some time brooding over the list, drawn little arrows between certain bullet points, marked others with question and / or exclamation marks and finally compiled a new list, sorted differently.

This had been the basis for his appointment with Superintendent Morris today, and after the initial resistance had been overcome, he hadn't had to go to great lengths to convince him that his idea was splendid. He figured it had perhaps been the prospect of getting praise and being mentioned in the papers that had done the trick – along with the knowledge that he wouldn't really have to do much for it because Richard had already discussed the matter and arranged everything with DI Fryer, and they'd take care of all the organisational upheaval while Morris would only have to carry off the laurels in the end and get all the credit… and he'd have to countersign Camille's report in the end, but that didn't sound like much of a hardship.

The most rewarding part of the day had been Camille's reaction, though. Ah – that had been worth all the blood, sweat and tears he had put into his plan… well, not literally, of course, but Richard loved the metaphor, anyway.

When she had come to his office to finally talk to him, he had sat there and said "Ah, Camille… right… I've got news for you… please close the door. But you wanted to talk to me – so maybe you want to speak first?"

She was curious to hear what kind of news he might have for her and figured it wouldn't hurt to listen before blurting out with what was on her mind and telling him she'd rather not work with him

And then he had explained the restructuring plans, pointed out how she and Stephen would be trained together, and how their presence would help the department to absorb the vacuum of DI Harrison's absence.

"So… you and – er – yes, Stephen! – you and Stephen will be part of the new-formed regular team… it's an experiment, and I hope it will pan out the way I envision it. _DI_ _Fryer_ will be your supervisor – and he'll write your report in the end. We'll announce the whole thing in a briefing after lunch, but I figured you might like to know beforehand. You have only been here since yesterday, and you don't have an assigned task so far, and somehow it seemed fair to – er…"

His voice had trailed off as she had sat opposite to him, speechless… That was a first. He had never before seen her being stumped for an answer. After a moment, though, a smile had grown on her face, and she had said "Now, that changes everything… Thank you for letting me know – my 'problem' has resolved itself with this!"

Then she had got up and stood there by his desk, looking lovely in her dark trousers and the cobalt blue polo-neck sweater, and her gaze had been a tiny little bit provocative when she had said "I did know you can be quite the schemer, and this hasn't changed, obviously - but I never knew you were a rebel. This re-structuring experiment will turn everything in this department upside down! It sounds good to _me_ , though… I'm sure I'll get on fine with DI Fryer… so… thanks!"

Apparently, she had understood what his point was, and judging from her reaction, she was quite content with what he had come up with. But of course, he couldn't let on that he had re-shuffled everything just because of her… no, that wouldn't do. She'd develop delusions of grandeur – no, no…

So, sporting his best poker face, he had looked up and said stiffly "Now, I really have absolutely no idea what you mean, Camille, but I'm glad that you're pleased with the whole thing. You know how important it is for me that the team is satisfied and motivated…"

She had raised her eyebrows at him, and her lips had curved in an amused smile, then she had said "Oh right – of course, I remember now!"

Then she had made ready to go. Before she had opened the door, she had turned around once more and given him an appreciative glance, saying softly and with a teasing undertone "You have no idea how _impressed_ I am with you…"

She had sounded so much like the 'old' Camille – it had been a relief to know that she had _not_ turned into a stranger. Yesterday, he had wondered if maybe they had both changed too much… but no, she was still Camille – maybe she was not _quite_ as flirtatious as she had used to be, but she hadn't lost that impish smile… and he still was attracted to her… oh yes, very much so…

He had given her a brief nod and tried not to smile back at her. He hadn't wanted to give himself away at this point…

He felt that this new situation was a start – she was still in his department, but out of his report line now, and that would make everything much, much easier… or wouldn't it?


	7. Convergence

Chapter 7 - Convergence

The next couple of days went by in a flash. Camille got a new desk near DI Fryer, and she was now working closer together with him and the other intern, Stephen. Together with Constable Collins and a few others, they were forming a new team.

During his surprise appointment with Superintendent Morris, Richard had suggested that they'd re-structure the department and re-distribute tasks and projects – at least until the end of the year, and if the new structure proved to be useful and practical, they'd stick to it. He had claimed that with DI Harrison being away for so long, it would be best to handle it this way, and it also seemed to make sense that Camille and Stephen were trained together.

Richard had pointed out "They both have a completely different background, and this will help the team – as a whole - to gather new insights, but you have to see them as extras, not as a staple, if you know what I mean. They can handle tasks fairly independently – they are both sergeants, after all. We'll gain more flexibility, and Fryer can coordinate their schedules according to whatever prevailing requirements. When their internship will be over, the team will still be strong enough to deal with things – and we might get another intern next time whom we can integrate to the team then. As far as Harrison is concerned, he has called again to say that things with his leg are more complicated than they appeared at first, so we will have to see in how far he can cope with his old position once he comes back. In the meantime, we should focus on trying to get everything streamlined and run the department efficiently. With this new structure, that should be a lot easier."

Superintendent Morris had nodded thoughtfully, then he had asked "And what about the Holloway projects?" Richard had seen this coming and said "Look, sir – I have prepared most of the projects already in cooperation with the head of the station there. All we need to do now is set timeframes for the information events, the open house thing, and so on, and organise the details. Since these projects are all scheduled for next year, there's time enough to discuss details – if we restructure the department the way I've suggested, I will have more time to do that. I would also suggest appointing one person as a go-between so Holloway would have one contact person who would collect all the info, sift through it and pass on the messages and questions of relevance to me once a week or so, so I wouldn't get disturbed with continuous phone calls. You know how people can be when they are mulling over something – they come up with all sorts of redundant stuff, and a contact person could cover my back. I wouldn't get all the obsolete phonecalls and e-mails and waste precious time on getting back to people on stuff that's irrelevant, anyway. We could establish a general e-mail address for that, if you think it's advisable…"

He had hoped that this would go through without too much protest – he hated wasting his time on things like that. Morris had looked a little doubtful, but accepted it in the end. Richard had added "I'd have more time for the really important things, like investigations and files and cases… real police work, you know…"

Morris had stifled a grin. Whatever else was behind Poole's attempt to reorganise the department – and he didn't doubt one moment that there was indeed an ulterior motive – it surely was _also_ about trying to diminish the administrative part of his position. He knew only too well that Richard wasn't too keen on PR work and would rather be out in the streets and solve cases than sit in the office and deal with what he called 'politics'.

Then he had asked "And Fryer and you will organise it all?"

"Yes, sir. I have discussed this with him already, and like me, he thinks that once the initial hiccups are overcome, it'll all go smoothly. Of course, it will require some adjustment, as any change does, but we'll get there. It's an… it's an attempt to see if things can be run differently by taking advantage of – er – um - synergy effects. You know, many things are done in a particular way only because they have always been done this way, and while much of that makes sense, there are some traditions that are outdated. I'm not saying that change just for the sake of change is a good thing. That wouldn't make sense. However, it wouldn't hurt to do away with some of the old shibboleths, if you know what I mean."

Richard had felt like a revolutionary when he had said this. Traditions and customs had always been important to him – and they still were. They were standards to live by. He had never felt very comfortable with change, but he realised that it was one thing to be the thrown into it without the chance of having a say – and quite another one to be proactive, create change and make it happen. The former was something one endured passively, but the latter would rather be called 'decision-making' - they had the same outcome, though: both brought changes…

He had known that Fryer had been frustrated with how some things were handled at the station right now, and so Fryer had been the one that he had approached. It wasn't that Harrison wouldn't have agreed to changes – he just wasn't the kind of person who would have helped much. Fryer, however, was keen on distinguishing himself; he wanted to make his mark and show off his organisational skills. Harrison, on the other hand, was more of a 'hanger-on' – he'd accept change, but wouldn't do anything to make it happen.

Initially, Richard had felt a little sneaky for acting behind Harrison's back – but then again, it was his absence that had given him the chance to act at all, and Harrison would profit from the new structure in the end as his open cases were now divided among the new team, and when he returned, he wouldn't 'owe' a particular person for stepping in – Fryer would take care of the cases with the group of sergeants and the two interns, and Richard would take over when there was an emergency.

They'd see how that would work out, and Richard hoped it would prove to be as efficient as it looked from the outside. It would also give Fryer a chance to show his potential – Richard knew that his DI would appreciate this, and he'd prove himself grateful later on. That couldn't hurt, and it couldn't hurt to have an ally here at the station, anyway…

In any event, even if they decided to return to the old system – and Richard hoped that they wouldn't do that because he hated inefficiency and was convinced that his new concept was better – the new system's trial period lasted until the end of the year, and that definitely meant that he would _not_ be Camille's supervisor. She would mostly work with Fryer, and even if he called her for back-up in exceptional situations, Fryer would be responsible for writing her report. Morris would countersign it. It would work the same way for Stephen – the other intern. Richard had pointed out it would be a good thing to have both interns working together under the same supervisor in a team with other sergeants – they would take on responsibility and wouldn't just take the second billing to their supervisor or the other sergeants. Also, it would be easier to coordinate their duties – and it would become obvious very quickly how adaptable and team-minded someone was.

The staff's initial reaction had been a little guarded – they hadn't quite known what to think of it all. Richard had outlined the system, given them an overview and stressed that it would take a little time to get used to the changes, but that it would all be worth it in the end, and Fryer had pointed out the positive sides in more detail. He had also given them a couple of examples where the current system was cumbersome and slow and how they could be so much more efficient if they looked at things differently. The briefing had ended with people being cautiously optimistic, and during the afternoon, they had slowly started to switch desks and discuss how they'd implement the relevant changes.

The first couple of days had been a bit confusing for everyone, and of course, the other departments of the station were eager to see if this was going to be a success or a failure, but by the end of the week, the hubbub had calmed down, and everyone had settled in – at least more or less so.

On Friday afternoon, DI Fryer looked around and remarked "Well, kids, that's it for today. Anyone joining me at the pub for a round or two? I'd think we've deserved it…"

There was a bit of a ruckus as people gave their assent, went to look for their coats and packed up work. Richard was nowhere to be seen. As Camille tucked her phone into her bag, she had an idea, and she said to Constable Collins who was standing by her desk, waiting for her to come "Don't wait for me, Sarah. Go ahead to the pub and save a place for me – I'll be there in a few minutes. I just realised I have to finish something urgent, but it won't keep me long, so…"

Collins nodded in agreement and turned to go, quickening her steps as she was trying to catch up with a few others who were just walking down the corridor. Over the past week, she had got to know Camille a little better, and she was impressed with her determination and resourcefulness. She had never been very determined herself – except for one thing, and that had been about joining the police. Her parents hadn't been too excited, and her friends had thought she was bonkers, but she was happy with her decision so far. Camille was something like a role model for her – and although she knew that admiring someone too much wasn't healthy because you never were free if you did that, she felt that Camille was an inspiring example.

A few minutes later, the department was basically empty. Camille checked her hair and her lipstick, then she put on her coat and took her bag. She took a deep breath, knocked on Richard's office door, and when she heard him answer – absent-mindedly – she smiled to herself and stuck her head inside.

"Hello," she said softly. He looked up and said "Oh, is it time to go already? Have a good weekend, Camille…"

But she didn't back out, instead she came to his desk and perched on one corner, ignoring his frown as she was making a mess of the papers he had laid out so carefully and saying "Time to go, yes, and that applies to you as well… You've worked so hard all week long… Why don't you come along to the pub and have a drink with… with the team? I thought you were so deeply rooted in the English way of life that you wouldn't need further encouragement… and we've got a reason to celebrate – we've survived the first week as a newly structured department, haven't we…"

He looked up to her, a little doubtfully, and said – mild reproach in his voice – "I didn't know you were so keen on English traditions, Camille!"

She interjected quickly "Well, Richard, you know what they say… when in Rome, and all that…"

He raised his eyebrows and said with a slightly miffed undertone "Yes, rub it in – I know what you mean, I've never been good at blending in on Saint Marie. But whatever, it hasn't been an entire week yet, and you're making it sound like it's a horrible mess that one can only forget about by getting plastered…"

She smiled a little and said then "That's _not_ what I mean, and you know it. Why are you making it so difficult? Come on, let's celebrate! I tell you what… I'm a bit short of cash, but I'll promise to buy you a drink if you come along…"

Seeing that he was still hesitating, she added very softly and very gently "Please… Chief…"

He looked at her, and in an instant, they both were transported back in time, to the moment when he had quietly (and stupidly) turned her down because she had refused to call him 'Chief'…

They were back on the veranda of the Honoré Police Station, and he had just pondered that he might actually like to have a drink with Camille and the rest of the team to celebrate that they had caught the killer of Polly Carter and that he had managed to make his parents see that they belonged together… but then he had figured that if she could be stubborn, so could he… and by not answering to her remark, he had made it clear that he wouldn't come.

Oh, so often, he had wondered what would have happened if he had joined them… instead of spending the evening at the bar with his team, he had stayed at home, reading a book about insects. He had missed so many chances…

No, he'd grab this one. Although she had said he was being difficult – nonsense, he never was difficult! Well, maybe he was, but that was his own business, wasn't it?

However… even if it was only going to be a drink in a loud pub, together with the entire department, it would be a first step. The fact that she had asked him seemed to indicate that she wanted them to spend time together…

And… she had actually called him 'Chief' after all… With a delay, but well… better late than never, he figured.

* * *

Hours later, Camille came home to her dull, boring, unexciting room in the guesthouse. On the way, she had felt elated, but now that she unlocked the door she felt a bit let down, realising that the remainder of the evening would be decidedly unspectacular. However, she knew she had no reason to complain… It had been a fun evening – she had spent more money than she had wanted, but less than she had expected, so that was good, and overall, she was rather pleased with herself.

There had been quite a few surprised faces and wide eyes when she had showed up with Richard in tow, but Collins had quickly finagled additional seating space in a snug – yes, the 'Wild Boar' had snugs as well, just like the 'White Hart', Richard's old locale in Croydon. He had obviously felt a bit uneasy at first, as if he wasn't used to spending time in a pub any more (and he had confessed later on to Camille that it had been months since he had last been out with the team), but eventually he had loosened up and enjoyed himself – as much as Richard was able to enjoy himself in a noisy crowd of people. She had bought him a beer and got one for herself, too – and although they hadn't talked all _that_ much, it had been good to sit next to him. And from how he had sometimes looked at her, it had seemed that he didn't mind being jammed together with her in the snug, either. It had felt good to know that he was still _somewhat_ attracted to her – and she had every reason to believe that it wasn't only wishful thinking from her side…

They had left the pub together eventually, and Richard had walked her to Kings Cross Station – it was just a little over a mile away, and it hadn't been all that late yet, just about 8 p.m., so neither of them had been in a hurry. It would be easier to get away from Kings Cross than from Camille's usual tube station, and Richard had explained that he could catch a train from there, too.

It was a lovely route to walk – Richard had showed her a way along a canal that Camille most likely wouldn't have found herself. There were lights, and it was a paved path, so it was completely safe – well, as safe as it could be in a big city. Several people had walked there, there had been a few joggers and runners, too, and Camille had felt at peace.

It was already dark fairly early these days, but it wasn't all that cold at the moment. The weather had become a little better over the past days, and according to the forecast the weekend should be sunny and pleasant – as they were in October already it wouldn't be warm, but nice enough for outdoor activities.

"So what are you going to do over the weekend?" Camille had asked curiously. She knew that Richard had never been very active during his time in the Caribbean, but she had concluded from snippets of conversations she had overheard that it was different here – and also it was pretty obvious, considering that Richard was slimmer than he had been on Saint Marie - and clearly fitter, too.

He had responded "I'm not entirely sure yet. I have chores to do, but there's also a concert in a church I'd like to attend, and if the weather stays this nice, I might want to go for a run… And you?"

She had shrugged and said "Not sure, either. I've been trying to explore the surroundings of my new flat lately, so I might go for a long walk – or maybe even a run…" – she had smiled, silently recognising his remark that he ran, too – "but other than that, I don't know. I'll find something to do, though… Everything is so expensive here, so I have to be careful…"

"You're moving?" he had asked, acknowledging with a sideways glance that she also was a runner, and realising that he didn't have the faintest idea of her living circumstances. She had nodded and explained "And it's about time. I live in a guesthouse at the moment…" – and she had given him the full story of how she had found a place and then lost it before she had signed the contract, concluding with "… and so I'll be moving in November. I don't have an awful lot of things to move, so I consider doing it all in one go, but I'm not quite sure yet. I guess I'll play it by ear when the time comes. I look forward to having a place of my own. I'm clearly too old for guesthouses – too much noise, and nothing works properly. You can't even cook yourself a proper meal because the kitchenette is lousy, and you sleep in the same room where you cook, so you can imagine it's not particularly convenient. But it's okay for a short period of time."

"You're not old," he had said, obviously focusing on how she had said she was too old for living in a guesthouse. She had raised her eyebrows and replied, seemingly entirely seriously "Didn't you already say a couple of years ago that I was old? I haven't become any younger since then…"

He had known exactly what she was alluding to and chuckled "Yeah, right, you are the doll with the wonky eye and the broken arm… Seriously, Camille, when will you ever stop taxing me with that? I never said this, and you know it…"

They had reached the train station, and it had been time to part ways. She had laughed, nudged him with her elbow and joked "Oh, you did… and you said I was left on the shelf… and look, this is exactly what I am… I'm only here because all hope for finding a good catch is gone! I'm an old, embittered, withered spinster, career-obsessed and without the faintest spark of a sense of humour…"

Then, more seriously, she had added "Thanks for walking me here, Richard - that was very kind of you. And it was nice of you to come along to the pub, too!"

And before he had known what was happening – and before she could chicken out again – she had leant over and kissed him on the cheek.

This would have to do for now. She had hopefully given him to understand that she was trying to make a new start and hit the reset button for their relationship. The kiss that they had exchanged just before he had left Saint Marie, this one wonderful, heavenly kiss… it had somehow stood between them since they had seen each other again earlier this week, and while she cherished the memory and hoped to repeat the experience (preferably quite soon!), she knew she'd have to take it slowly. She didn't want him to feel uneasy around her.

She was no longer holding a grudge against him for leaving Saint Marie – although she had been reluctant to see it for a long time, she had understood that he hadn't had much of a choice at that point. If they had both been clearer about their wishes and feelings, it might have been different – but the way it had been, neither of them had known what the other one had felt. She knew that now.

And if she had interpreted his actions correctly, he had moved heaven and earth to get them out of the trainee / supervisor situation, so obviously he had felt uncomfortable with this, too. For a moment she had thought it might be that he didn't want to work with her, but after she had recalled his reaction to her sudden appearance at the station, she had realised that this couldn't be the point. It had been obvious that he had been confused, but pleased to see her, so it had to be something different that had made him try to get her out of his direct workfield. Maybe he had decided that it was better if they didn't work so closely together, given their cooperation on Saint Marie – but maybe it had also been that he had wanted the coast to be clear for a less professional relationship… She hoped it was the latter…

She'd find out eventually.

* * *

Sunday came, and Richard got ready for his run, albeit still being a little tired from last night's concert. It had taken a little longer than anticipated, and then he hadn't been able to fall asleep immediately after his return home. He had been thinking of the evening in the pub – and how good it had felt to sit next to Camille. Once, she had leant over and whispered a remark about DI Fryer into his ear – Fryer had a tendency to get a little too jovial when he had had a little too much alcohol, and Camille just _had_ to comment on that, but didn't want to do so all too openly – after all, Fryer would write her report in the end, so she didn't want to affront him. As she had moved and leant over, Richard had been engulfed by the scent of her perfume – he had never forgotten the specific fruity scent that she wore… And it had been impossible to ignore the close softness of her body, the way she tilted her head to one side, the sparkle in her eyes…

And long suppressed feelings and wishes had come up again…

How funny that she also was into running… He had always admired her athletic, well-toned body, and he had known that she exercised a lot, but he had never really thought about what sort of exercise she enjoyed. He had known about her gym membership, and of course, she had always done things like zumba and that kind of newfangled stuff – whatever it was called! -, but he hadn't expected her to do something so old-fashioned and conventional like running… It was reassuring to know that they were on the same page there.

He had half-expected her to make a sarcastic remark about how he had never been athletic back on Saint Marie, but she had just nodded and smiled when he had mentioned running, so obviously, she had accepted that some of his habits had changed with time… He couldn't possibly tell her about the mortifying moment when he had showed up for his medical examination after his return from Saint Marie and the doctor in charge had said 'Ah, Poole – gained a bit of weight during your stay in the Caribbean, huh? Such is the good life!' His suits had still fit, but admittedly, they had been a bit tight, so exercising more had been the solution. Still, it had taken him a while to get going…

For a moment, he had imagined her in running gear, full of vim and vigour – sweat running down her face and her neck, trickling down her neckline, her hair mussed and wild, her eyes shining with laughter and energy… but then he had gavelled himself… she was not an advert for running shoes, after all… Really, what was he thinking?

And why had she called herself an embittered, withered spinster? She wasn't anything of that kind, and she knew it. Camille wasn't left on the shelf – she was an independent spirit, and she was on her own because she hadn't found anybody she wanted to share her life with, he was certain of that. She wasn't the type who'd get together with someone just for the sake of being part of a couple. She'd rather be on her own than being in a relationship that felt wrong.

Did she want a relationship at all? Would she be open to his advances – whatever they'd look like?

He had lay there in his bed, wondering how to go about from here. The main obstacle was out of the way, but what now? He had never thought beyond that point…

Well, maybe his run would help – the weather was marvellous, and he hoped being outside would bring him clarity. Apparently, they were finally having a 'golden October', as the weatherman called it, and he had refrained from going swimming on Saturday as he had figured he could still do this on other weekends when the weather was more dismal, and it would be fun to spend time outside again and explore a few new trails.

For a while, he had always taken the same route, but over the past year, he had started to go for detours and find new paths. Sometimes, he had found himself in dead ends – trails that had initially looked good and then turned into mud holes or ended abruptly – but most of the time, he had found the experience very rewarding. It was funny, on Saint Marie he had clung to his routines and habits almost religiously – just like he had done before moving there – but after his return, his attitude had gradually changed.

And taking new routes also distracted him from his thoughts. He enjoyed running – and swimming – because he could think quietly about all the stuff going through his head, and he had often felt a lot clearer after his runs and swims. However, this good aspect could turn into a curse - when he found that his thoughts were going in circles and he just couldn't get away from them, no matter how far he ran or swam. Then, looking out for new routes during a run provided distraction – and when he was swimming, he usually switched to high impact training, alternating with a slower pace for a few laps in between.

These had become his coping strategies when things got too confusing for him.

Today, however, he would try just to enjoy the good weather, the rustling of golden leaves under his feet, the clear, crisp air… and with a little luck, he might have a brain wave and figure out how to approach Camille… without being too obvious, of course.


	8. Getting the Ball Rolling

Chapter 8 – Getting the ball rolling

Camille had decided to leave her mother in the dark about the fact that she worked in Richard's department now, at least for the moment. As much as she loved her, and as much as she appreciated her support in all possible ways, she felt she had to keep this to herself for a while – until she had figured out where she and Richard were going. She knew that Catherine wanted her to find closure – one way or another. But these things couldn't be done in a rush. So, she'd just tell her she got transferred to another station after the previous week's disaster, and that things were going okay at the new place – and that would be it. It felt a little sneaky, but she knew she had to do this on her own…

She had gone through a myriad of feelings since Richard had left Saint Marie, and although she had worked out by now that she (still) wanted more from Richard than just friendship and that all the years of separation hadn't cooled down her desire to be with him, she had no real plan for how to translate her wishes into action. He was _much_ more approachable now than he had been on Saint Marie – maybe because he didn't feel so outlandish here on his home turf – but that still didn't mean he was easy to handle. He had been friendly towards her, but also a little distant at times – except for Friday evening, when they had sat together in the pub and walked to the station afterwards. He had been perfectly amicable then.

She had been reminded of how he had solved the case of Delilah Dunham's murder – and how the entire team, including the Commissioner, plus a few more people, had gathered at La Kaz and enjoyed a fabulous dinner together. That had been the first time she had seen him relaxed and at ease… he had made jokes, talked with everyone, and just enjoyed himself…

She still was somewhat hesitant to bring up situations that they had experienced together on Saint Marie – she wasn't sure how he'd react. Neither of them had even grazed the subject of their goodbye yet… She was wondering what would happen if they ever got to that point. So, she had not dared alluding to Saint Marie all too clearly in general.

But after he had got up from his chair when she had referred to the evening when he had tried to show her who was boss by turning her down, she had felt a bit safer. She had been worried he'd clam up and hide behind the buttoned-up demeanour she knew so well, but in that situation, it had been a risk she had needed to take.

He had looked at her with an enigmatic expression on his face, there had been a gleam in his amazingly green eyes that had made them appear almost cat-like, and for a moment she had thought time had stood still – then he had got up and said – in his own starchy manner, but with a hint of humour in his eyes – "Well, if you insist like this, Sergeant Bordey… how could I let this chance slip by?"

She had felt her knees turning to jelly when he'd looked into her eyes – and she had struggled a little to keep her cool.

She had realised that while they both still had the same basic personality, they _had_ changed to a certain extent, and maybe that was their chance… they were different people now, but they still knew each other well… He had lived his life and made his experiences… and since he had left, he had undergone developments and changes that she had no idea about – just like she had made _her_ experiences… Working with Humphrey had indeed changed her attitude to some degree – she had learnt things about herself that she hadn't been aware of, and when Fidel had left, the dynamics in the team had shifted again while the outer circumstances had appeared to remain the same. She realised that it had been a valuable experience altogether, but she was glad that she had left it all behind.

* * *

During the evening in the pub, Sarah Collins had asked her if she considered returning to Saint Marie after her exams, and much to her own surprise, Camille had hesitated to answer. She just wasn't sure. She had felt Richard's eyes on her as she had finally responded "Well, at the moment the DI position is taken, so I would have to return to my old position – which is taken, too. I have no idea how things are going to develop over there – you know how it is. Having said that – I wouldn't say no if I got a good offer, but I don't see that happening. So it's not so much a question of what I want, but more one of what I can get. When I left, I was well aware of this. The local Commissioner has assured me that there'll always be a place for me on Saint Marie, but even he can't conjure a job out of the hat for me, if you know what I mean. He might try and draw strings for me, but I'm not _entitled_ to get my old job back so I'm not counting on anything there. I think I'll just wait and see. What about you, Stephen," – she had turned to the other intern – "do you think you'll return to your old station?"

Stephen had shrugged and said "We'll see. I know I would get my old job back and have to apply for a promotion if something suitable came up. I know there are a few people considering retirement, but of course, there are others lined up who might want to apply – you never know. At the moment, I'd say I'd go back if given the chance, but ask me again in a few months, and I may say something else…"

They had all laughed. Stephen was quite philosophical and detached about the whole thing. He seemed to feel that way about many things in life – he had a good sense of humour and liked to laugh about whatever came his way. That didn't mean he wasn't ambitious or serious about life – or that he wouldn't take influence, when possible – he just claimed that life was serious enough already and that you didn't make it any better by worrying about things. "Don't sweat the small stuff" seemed to be his motto, and he appeared to live quite well with this philosophy.

Sarah Collins admired him for his attitude. She would have liked him to notice her a bit more, but from what she had gathered, he didn't care about her… Maybe he thought she was too young for him – he was in his mid 30s. A few times she had seemed to notice how his eyes had rested longer than necessary on Camille, but maybe that had only been stupid jealousy and selective perception… And truth be told, Camille didn't show any particular interest in him, despite her sometimes rather flirtatious ways she showed no preference for any of the men in the team… It was interesting how she seemed so approachable, yet actually was very aloof. She never allowed anyone to get close to her.

It had been remarkable to see her interact with the Chief – it was obvious that they shared a common history. They seemed to follow a certain ritual – and a secret code - in their communication. A couple of times, Camille had rolled her eyes at him, and DCI Poole had responded in the most fustian, bombastic manner that he could possibly muster up – even for his standards, it seemed overinflated. A couple of times, when Camille had made an unorthodox suggestion, Poole had merely raised his eyebrows – while he would have dismissed the same suggestion from others without further ado. It was obvious that he trusted Camille's judgement. Mostly, at least – there were exceptions, of course, but it was quite clear that he relied on her.

A scarcely perceptible nod from her side, an arched eyebrow from his, a half sentence here or there, and a strategy was decided without anybody else in the team knowing how it had happened. They'd only worked together on few cases because DI Fryer was in charge of the interns, but it was remarkable how efficient their cooperation was. Collins had witnessed an interrogation they had done together, and that had been an eye-opening experience. They were a marvellous team – despite being so different in many ways. But then again, maybe that was why they worked together so well – each of them compensated for the other's shortcomings.

Despite the arguments they sometimes had, Collins felt that there was genuine affection between these two – and their interaction definitely made work a lot more interesting. They were really entertaining, without being aware of it – and she was actually pleased to see DCI Poole coming out of his shell a bit more often now.

Stephen's response to her question had made Camille realise how differently people approached life – and how one's approach could change, depending on circumstances. Nothing was set in stone… She had been career driven when she had finished her training in France and gone undercover, but then her 'career' had been thwarted when Richard had arrested her all those years back… Living on Saint Marie again had changed her view, and while she had been keen on doing a good job, she hadn't really cared for climbing the career ladder. After Richard's departure, she had happily continued to work in her position, but little by little, she had felt stalled – and now her goal was finishing this course and sitting the exams, but beyond that, she had decided not to sweat it. Things would fall into place somehow, one way or the other.

She realised that – while she still struggled a little with the climate and felt lonely sometimes – she wasn't entirely averse to living in the UK. She had always thought France was more fun, but now – despite all the puzzling customs and traditions around here - she was discovering numerous things in the UK that she quite liked, too, so she noted with some dismay that she had perhaps just been as ignorant as Richard when he had lived on Saint Marie… He had always praised the UK, and she had always praised Saint Marie and France – but at the end of the day, neither of them had ever lived in other places for an extended period of time, so it had been a case of the pot calling the kettle black. They had been foolish… in so many ways…

But they had been given a second chance – and she was determined to make the most of it.

* * *

The weeks went by, and finally it was time for Camille to move into her new place. It was a fairly small flat, but big enough for a single person – there was a small living room with a dining space and a sitting area, an even smaller bedroom and a tiny kitchen, plus a teeny-weeny bathroom. However, the little space that was there was indeed used optimally. There were built-in cabinets everywhere, and that made everything much easier. The place came furnished – everything was very functional and practical.

She was particularly pleased with the very useful bed-sofa in the living room and the built-in cabinets and closet space everywhere. The bed was okay, but given the size of the room, it had to be small… it wasn't even what Camille knew as a 'grand lit' from France. When she described it to Sarah Collins, she exclaimed "Oh, a small double…"

Camille thought that calling a bed that was only about 120 cm wide would hardly be called a 'double' in France, but well… obviously, the English had a different idea. Since she was on her own, anyway, it was okay for her, but it could hardly be described as luxurious. At least, the bed-sofa – that could be folded out to a whopping 160 cm in width - would enable her to have overnight visitors – she was considering asking Isabelle and Alain if they wanted to spend a few days with her some time, perhaps in the spring.

Camille got the keys to the place a little earlier than anticipated, so she moved 'in instalments'. For a week, she came to work with a big tote bag every day and then went to her new flat afterwards where she stored away the contents and went back to her room in the guesthouse. It was a bit tiring and made for long days, but it wouldn't last forever, so she was fine with it.

Eventually, she came to work on a Friday, bringing along her suitcase. Richard saw her rolling it into the office and asked with an amused smile "Are you moving to the station over the weekend?"

She rolled her eyes and said "Mind you, I have been tempted a couple of times already! But no… I'll move into my new flat for good this weekend, however, this is going to be my first night there. I'll just go to tie up the last loose ends tomorrow in the afternoon and return the keys then. Not one moment too early – I tell you, my neighbour apparently fell asleep with the television on yesterday night, and it was horribly noisy! Not to mention the party that someone had the other night…"

Richard looked at the suitcase again and asked "Where are you going to park this monster? You cannot possibly keep it here; it's taking up too much space…" On an impulse, he opened the door to his office and said "Put it in here. It's quite safe with me, I promise…"

Camille gave him a grateful smile, but couldn't help but saying with a twinkle in her eyes "I know… I can trust you; you're not going to dig into my bras and knickers up to your elbows."

She half expected him to turn scarlet and stutter an incoherent reply, but much to her surprise, that didn't happen. He did blush, but strikingly enough, he also raised his eyebrows and responded deadpan "What makes you so sure I don't have an underwear fetish, Camille? Appearances can be deceptive, as you know… Lacy bras might be my favourites, along with skimpy bikini tops… Haven't you heard that still waters run deep?"

She felt the blood rising in her cheeks at this remark that clearly was a hardly veiled innuendo – or so it seemed to her – and she just managed to suppress a little gasp of amazement. Much to her frustration, she couldn't think of a suitable repartee, so she just passed him an enigmatic sideways glance – but she knew that he knew that he had startled her… she could see it in his smug smile. Oh, how annoying! By the same token, it was kind of fun, and it reminded her of the old days, back on Saint Marie…

* * *

Camille got accustomed to her new place rather quickly. It was a nice little flat, and the infrastructure was good, too. She had a little supermarket nearby, and all relevant amenities were within walking distance. There was a bus stop, the tube station and a newsstand close to where she lived, plus some restaurants, bistros and a little park.

When she had moved in, she had been thinking about having a housewarming party – but then she decided against it. This was not the Caribbean where people could spread out all over the beach during a party or go out into the street when it got too crowded. It would be too crammed in the flat, and to be quite honest, she didn't really feel close enough to anybody in the team to want them in her home – they all were nice, but there wasn't a close tie between them all, like it had been on Saint Marie where the team members had been real friends.

The only exception was Richard – but then, of course, she had known him for years already, and he was certainly _special_.

Camille found it hard to believe that she'd only be at the station for another few weeks, then her Christmas break would start – that she would mostly spend in France, with Isabelle and Alain - and after that, the new module at the training centre would begin…

She was beginning to panic a little – time had just kind of slipped away, and she still hadn't come any further with Richard.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. The past weeks had gone fairly well – they had had a few arguments about little details, but he had gone to lunch with her and the team once, and she had kept him company a few times when he had eaten lunch in the little staffroom next to the tea kitchen. He had had a sandwich, and she had brought a salad – she had mentioned she couldn't go out for lunch literally every day as it was just too expensive, and he had nodded understandingly, making a remark about some shops ripping people off. They hadn't talked much, but neither of them had felt _compelled_ to talk - the silence hadn't been embarrassing. He had also clearly made more of an effort to be sociable – he had stopped to talk to people when he was on the way to the tea kitchen, and he had brought her a mug of coffee a few times – always making sure that Sarah Collins, Stephen or DI Fryer got one, too, so it wasn't that he had singled her out all too obviously.

But that was not what she wanted – she wanted more. This was all moving at a snail's pace, and they were running out of time.

So, what to do? As she put on her fleece pyjamas one evening and hustled a hot water bottle under her duvet to keep her company in bed, she decided that she needed a plan. She had to show him more clearly that she wanted them to be closer – he had sent a few signals that could only mean that he was interested, too, but it had been a classical Richard Poole scenario with going two steps forward and one back… she knew that he still was unassertive when it came to women, and she realised that she'd have to give him a push. Otherwise they'd never get anywhere. He was confident in his job, but although his social skills had generally got better, there was still room for improvement…

She definitely had to come up with a battle plan that couldn't possibly fail. And as she went through her bedtime routine one evening and finally cuddled up in bed with the hot water bottle, an idea began to take shape in her head…

* * *

The next day was a Thursday. Richard was about to leave the station for lunch when Camille approached him in the corridor and asked "Do you have a minute, Richard?"

"Yes, sure, Camille… what's the matter?"

"Excuse me…" Superintendent Morris passed them, giving them a curious glance and slowing down his step a little so he could perhaps eavesdrop, and Camille smiled sweetly in his direction, then turned to Richard again and hissed "Not here". Loudly she said "Right… enjoy your lunch then, sir…"

With that, she went casually into the tea kitchen, and Morris – disappointed that there wasn't more to see or hear – left the premises – not without turning his head once more, hoping to get a clue about what was going on.

But his DCI was still standing in the same spot, resembling a menhir, and looking at his suit's sleeve, removing a tiny little bit of dust from it… Exasperatedly, Morris finally turned to go. There was something going on here, that much was clear. He had observed them to a certain extent, but he just couldn't figure out how close they really were. Not that it was any of his business, but well… admittedly, he was curious. Sometimes it seemed that they were more than just well acquainted, but then again, they had very heated arguments, too, and it was hard to figure out where they stood with one another.

Sergeant Bordey had turned out to be a real asset to the department – although she sometimes could be a bit temperamental – which Morris didn't really fancy all that much, and it struck him how well Poole seemed to deal with it. That was amazing, considering his general people skills – or lack thereof.

He had also noticed that while Camille was always friendly, quick with a joke and ready to laugh, it was hard to find out anything personal about her – she usually stuck to general statements and didn't reveal too much about her life. Come to think about it, she resembled Poole in that aspect…

Poole was an excellent detective, and he was glad to have him in his department, but he was incredibly starchy and almost pathologically obsessed with his privacy… You hardly ever heard anything about his weekend activities, and little was known about his life in general, apart from what you could find in his file. Sometimes he wondered if Poole maybe had a behavioural disorder…

When Richard was sure that his supervisor had at least reached the ground floor of the building, he turned and approached the tea kitchen – at a measured step.

Camille was standing by the fridge, taking out her salad. When he entered the room, she turned around and said impatiently "Finally… I thought you were nailed to the floor and you'd never come inside. Don't close the door – please leave it a little ajar. I want to be aware of who's around."

She peeked outside and said matter-of-factly "Ah, the coast is clear…"

Richard raised his eyebrows and asked, slightly stand-offishly "So, what is so compromising that you don't want it discussed in the hallway?"

Camille knew that he was confused and tried to hide this behind his stiff manners. She turned to him and said "Right… I just didn't want anybody to hear as I don't want any rumours to get started. I don't mind Morris, but he's supposed to countersign my report, if I got that right, and I'm not keen on him knowing too much about my private life. It's none of his business."

Richard's eyebrows went even higher, and a cautious look appeared in his eyes.

She laughed at his open suspicion and said "It's nothing scary or illegal, I promise. I was just wondering…"

Good grief, this was harder than she had thought. She hadn't been so hesitant and cautious on Saint Marie, but then… that had been different. However, she figured it boiled down to taking her own advice – "say it or don't say it" – so she came forward and said "Would you like to come for a little housewarming dinner to my new place on the weekend after this, on Saturday evening? I don't want to throw a big event, but having it go by unmarked seems a bit of a let-down, and so I thought I'd celebrate with someone… someone I care about."

There, she had said it. Even he couldn't be dense enough not to realise that this meant she wanted them to be more than just co-workers and casual friends.

He didn't say anything for a moment, then he replied incredulously "You mean, you'll be cooking?"

Knowing what a picky eater he was, she responded "Well, yes – I have a really good recipe for a stew… well, actually it's beef goulash, not _too_ spicy, but still savoury… I'm fairly sure you'll like it. You liked Maman's roast beef, and I learnt my culinary skills from her, so there's hope you'll like my goulash, too. And there'll be dessert afterwards – I cannot promise anything too fancy because my kitchen equipment is a bit limited, but I'll do my best."

Camille waited, then she added "You see, I didn't think Chuck Norris needed to know that I've been feeling a little lonely and would really like to spend an evening with a friend for a change…"

Richard's lips curled in a little smile as he heard her mentioning Morris's nickname and he conceded "I can certainly see your point... Well, as far as I'm concerned, I don't think he needs to know what my plans for the weekend after this are, either. As it is, I haven't had a good traditional beef goulash in longer than I care to remember, so I'll be pleased to follow your invitation. Just let me know where and when I'm supposed to show up. I presume it's not a black tie event?"

Camille giggled now, despite her attempts to remain serious. She shook her head and confirmed "Smart casual is quite enough, sir. And the bouncer isn't too strict… so, there's no jacket required, and please leave the tie at home."

He nodded and confirmed solemnly "As you wish…" She smiled warmly, and he couldn't help it – he just had to smile back… it was one of his rare lopsided half-smiles, the kind she had seen every once in a while on Saint Marie and then here, and she was about to say something just when they heard someone coming… and the moment was gone.

"Right," he said, suddenly sobering and sounding a little embarrassed, "I guess I'll go for lunch now." She nodded quietly and said "I'll e-mail you with the address and everything..."

* * *

Richard wasn't quite sure what he had got himself into with accepting her invitation. He felt how he was beginning to feel slightly jittery about their… whatever it was, he'd call it 'relationship' for lack of a better word… She had invited him to her house, and it would be just the two of them, if he had got that correctly… Now, what was _that_ supposed to mean?

Well, he had more than a week to figure out how to approach the situation, and her behaviour would hopefully give him a clue about her plans and intentions… Not for a single moment did he doubt that there was a plan behind her invitation. Camille _always_ had a plan…

She had said she felt lonely – and although he had seen the twinkle in her eyes, he had also felt that she had been sincere. It was hard to imagine that someone like Camille could be lonely, but the truth was that she didn't have a network here in London, and except for the people she knew through her course and through the internship at the station, she was pretty much on her own. He certainly knew that feeling – he had been on his own all his life… well, more or less so, except for a brief period during his uni time when he had hung out with a couple of people on a regular basis. For someone like her who wasn't used to that kind of life, it surely was quite an adjustment.

When he got home that evening, he checked his pantry, found a bottle of wine – his favourite Rioja – and put it back on the winerack again so it wouldn't stand in his way. As a reminder, he wrote himself a note and fixed it to the pinboard next to the fridge – where he kept his shopping list, little notes about forthcoming appointments and events as well as snippets from newspapers and magazines that he found useful for one reason or another.

The wine had been expensive, and he had saved it for a special occasion, not exactly sure what that could be – but well, if there ever was a special occasion for him, it clearly had to be Camille's invitation, so he figured it was quite appropriate. And it was a 'neutral' gift, nothing too personal…

But wasn't it too impersonal, on the other hand? Richard figured he could always go for a compromise – he'd go to the flower shop next to the little supermarket and see what they had. Flowers never were a mistake… Too bad that he couldn't get a bougainvillea or a frangipani bush for her – he knew that she liked those, and they'd bring a little slice of Saint Marie to her new home… But they wouldn't survive in this climate, as he knew only too well.

Perhaps she'd like a potted plant? He knew they had quite a wide selection of potted plants in this flower shop – as well as pretty cachepots. Maybe there'd even be some half-priced pots, so he could splurge on the plant and save on the pot? That would certainly look more impressive and appear more generous… Not that he was stingy, but he wanted good value for his money. Although… maybe the shop only _claimed_ that the pots were half-priced? It was perhaps all a big conspiracy – he had always been a little suspicious about the concept of discounts and rebates…

Well, he'd see…

He decided that there was time enough to think about it. Maybe he'd have an idea during his run on Saturday – provided the weather was stable, he intended to explore a particular area of a park that he had run at before…


	9. New Perspectives

Chapter 9 – New Perspectives

But the weather didn't remain stable. Richard sighed as he looked out of the window on Saturday morning. Rain again! Really, it wasn't worth getting showered and having breakfast – he'd just jump into his swimming gear, slip into his weekend clothes and drag himself to the pool.

He was a little late already when he left the house, so he missed the bus by five minutes. Realising that the next one wouldn't come until half an hour later, he set off to walk to the pool – by the time the next bus came, he'd be there – or at least almost! - if he walked briskly, so it was pointless to wait. He was wearing a waterproof hooded anorak, so he was suitably dressed.

He was deep in thought during his walk… He hadn't had much of a chance to think about Camille's invitation on Friday as he had been rather busy at work, and in the evening, he had watched a favourite show on TV, so he had been distracted. But now, he had the opportunity to ponder the situation, and he was aware of how her invitation was throwing him into some sort of inner turmoil. He wasn't quite sure if he was rather looking forward to the evening – or if he was actually afraid of it.

He knew that Camille didn't invite random people to her home. She might seem coquettish, but she was also very cautious, and from what he knew – he had kept his eyes and ears open – she hadn't gone out with anyone in a while… or at least so it seemed to him. Not that he was terribly good at reading other people's emotions, but to him, it didn't look like she was involved with anyone. He figured he knew her well enough to rely on her not fooling him on purpose when she had said that she cared about him. Of course, that could mean anything, but then again, she'd cook dinner – to him that sounded fairly domestic and almost intimate, something you did when a special person came to visit – and Camille surely wouldn't have phrased it that way if she hadn't meant it. If she had wanted something non-committal, she would have invited other people, too, and it would perhaps have been a potluck and not a home-made three course menu…

He might be inept in many ways, but he was no fool, and her way of proceeding indicated that she had a plan. Of course, there was a chance that he was mistaken and set his hopes too high, but he liked to think that she, too, hadn't forgotten those magic moments in his shack… and he wanted to believe that she still cared about him in that _particular_ way – although he couldn't be sure, could he… He hadn't got any younger, and he had never been a dashing fellow… not to mention that he wasn't adventurous or keen on trying new things… Why would Camille want to spend time with him, why would she be attracted to him? He just couldn't find a plausible answer to these questions – but that didn't keep him from hoping that she might see his good sides and consider them being qualities that she actually appreciated, wanted and needed in a potential partner…

Apprehensively he realised that he had never visited a woman in her home – at least not like _this._ It seemed hard to believe, but he really had reached his mid-forties without ever getting into this situation. He had spent time with a group of people during his uni time, but they had mostly met up at pubs or at someone's house – however, that had been different since he had never been the only guest. He had never had a female friend who had wanted him to come round for dinner, let alone a real girl friend. Nobody had ever been to his house to stay the night. And he had never had anything that had resembled a romantic date, either. He had always been on his own…

Admittedly, he had had very few flings – less than a handful… two or three, to be more precise - in his early years on the job when he had woken up in women's flats without really being sure about how he had ended up there – and he had felt very ashamed and almost shell-shocked in those situations.

Obviously, these flings hadn't had anything to do with deeper emotions for the respective women (and vice versa!) – they had been induced mostly by loneliness, accompanied by sudden feelings of lust and too much alcohol. He was certainly not proud of any of these affairs. And although they had given him – and apparently the women, too - physical satisfaction and relief for a moment, he had hated and despised himself… he had never wanted it this way. He had felt used – and he had felt that he had used the women, too. It hadn't mattered that they had been the ones instigating these situations. Needless to say, there had never been a 'relationship' afterwards – actually he had sneaked out of the women's flats and avoided any further contact afterwards (not too difficult since they had just been 'chance acquaintances', anyway), and none of them had sought him out and confronted him, so he had concluded they hadn't been interested, either.

And he had remained lonely.

Deep inside, he was romantic, and he believed in love, despite his general skepticism regarding the human nature… the fact that he had had only loveless affairs with women whom he had just known briefly and superficially was depressing, and it had undermined his self-esteem.

He still hadn't figured out after all these years why he hadn't been able to resist when he had come into these situations, but since there hadn't been too many of them, he had filed them under experiences and tried to move on… If nothing else, they had at least given him a deeper understanding for the unfathomable weaknesses that could lurk in people's character and that could come to the surface when faced with temptation – and they had made him realise that he, too, was fallible… an insight he hadn't been too happy with, but that had made him a little more humble. He wasn't quite sure if that was a good thing or not, and it didn't really make much of a difference, did it – it was an unalterable part of his life, and he had to accept it as such.

But whatever - obviously, these experiences had been made under entirely different circumstances, and these hangover mornings hadn't been preceded by dinner in the respective women's flats!

Well, he wouldn't get drunk at Camille's place, that much was sure… And his feelings for Camille were definitely going much, much deeper than anything he had experienced ever before….

With some chagrin, he wondered if Camille had a clue about what she was doing to him by inviting him for dinner. She was throwing him into some horrible fix here – on one hand, he wanted to rekindle their 'friendship', spend time with her and get closer to her, if possible. She was unbelievably important to him, he enjoyed being together with her, her company was inspiring, and yes, he also was immensely attracted to her - and she was the only woman who had ever cared enough about him to give him some kind of second chance although he had behaved like a complete idiot in her presence – repeatedly! Given the fact that she didn't suffer fools gladly, that had to mean something…

On the other hand, he was indeed quite scared of what might come out of it. He wasn't only rather inexperienced when it came to the physical side of 'it all', but also in regard to the interpersonal part. He hadn't been in love in a long, long time (and the one and only time had been a major disappointment in the end, anyway), and he had become so set in his ways and used to being by himself – could he actually un-learn his solitary, eccentric, self-involved way of looking at the world? He knew only too well that many people thought he was self-absorbed and anti-social – the truth was that he just had no clue how to behave otherwise. He wasn't entirely sure if this had always been his personality or if it was an acquired behaviour pattern that he had internalised… Or maybe it was a mix of both? Whatever it was, he couldn't act against it – it was part of who he was, and he had to accept this – and that applied to everyone else around him, too. Camille surely knew that… and still she had invited him…

He was willing to make sincere efforts for Camille, and he hoped she'd give him a chance and be patient with him. He didn't want to rush things. He wanted them to get accustomed to one another, he wanted to give their relationship time to grow, and he wanted to feel safe and comfortable with her before making that crucial step of literally coming out of his hiding place, shedding his armour and 'exposing' himself in front of her – in every sense of the word. He knew she wouldn't hurt him intentionally, but it could happen due to misunderstandings… he wanted to be sure she'd understand how he was wired… Quite an ambitious undertaking, considering that he sometimes didn't understand it himself…

He realised that his stance had changed with time. When he had left Saint Marie, he had been convinced that it was better to go, that they didn't have enough in common, that he had nothing to offer, anyway, and that she would run away from him in any case, so why try? But now, he was at least one step further – if not more than that… His desire to have her in his life was stronger than his desire for 'peace of mind'. Now, he _wanted_ to try…

Still, there were her expectations…

His lack of experience – that would become evident at some point - would hardly help to blow her away… But then again, if they gave themselves time… maybe that wouldn't matter so much? Well, they would _have_ to give themselves time – they had no other choice at this point: He knew that nothing physical could happen between them as long as they both worked in the same station, no matter how much he'd want to be with her.

And he hoped that she, too, knew they couldn't cross that bridge. At least not at this point - yet.

He felt his face getting warm as he remembered their recent conversation when she had brought her suitcase to the station on her moving day. That exchange had been more _risqué_ than their usual banter – the only other time he had ever made insinuations of a similar kind had been back on Saint Marie when he had claimed to have a date with a book during the period of the Erzulie festival because he had wanted to avoid the general hubbub in town… Camille had asked him the next morning when she had picked him up how his 'date' had gone, and he had replied that he had been 'at it all night and then again before breakfast'.

She had smiled, and her response had sent shivers down his spine – with a low, almost slinky voice she had drawled 'impressive…'

She had deliberately exaggerated her French accent – and it had sounded very sultry.

He had pretended to feel smug and unruffled, but the truth was that he had felt his heart skipping a beat and his ears burning as she had said this… This time, it had been her who had appeared surprised and a little confused while he had apparently had the upper hand… And admittedly, he still felt a little smug about that.

No, having dinner at her house surely wouldn't be a problem – the problem would be… how would they go about from there?

* * *

Camille had finished doing her regular amount of laps in the pool and reluctantly got out of the water. This was a really nice pool, and the weather outside didn't look too appealing – she'd have to walk almost ten minutes to the bus stop from here, and it wouldn't be so much fun with the strong wind and the rain outside. Oh well, she'd just extend the showering a little – maybe the weather would calm down, and it wouldn't be so bad any more by the time she left the building. Autumn in the UK wasn't so much fun. But then again, autumn in France hadn't always been great, either…

After she had got dressed, she took her backpack and went outside into the wide hallway with electric outlets and mirrors. She plugged in her blow dryer, bent over and began to dry her hair. As it got busier, more people passed, and several times people almost barged into her – and the others who were drying their hair in the corridor - because they didn't pay attention. There were no apologies or anything –people just walked on. Suddenly, she felt someone push her so hard from behind that she almost fell over. Again, that person walked on - she could just about catch her fall when she felt someone grabbing her arm and helping her up again. She turned around to thank the person – and looked right into a familiar face…

"Richard!" she exclaimed, slightly embarrassed because her hair was all over the place, her face was basically naked as she hadn't put on any make-up, and she was wearing an old dark green sweatshirt she had bought in France many, many years ago, along with a pair of faded, washed-out jeans… She surely wasn't looking her best. She switched off her blowdryer that kept racketing about and opened her mouth.

But before she could say anything, her backpack fell over and most of its contents got spilled out, and an instant later, they both found themselves scrambling on the floor, trying to gather all the items that had fallen out. Richard handed her the bag with her shampoo and shower gel and then picked up a towel and another wet item… a bright red swimsuit.

"Here… I think that's all," he said, his voice slightly strained. She tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and asked inanely "What… what are you doing here?"

He was just as gobsmacked as her – a few moments ago, when he had entered the building, he had wondered what she might be doing this weekend, and dang – there she was!

"I'm here to go swimming… obviously…" he replied, well aware of how stupid this sounded. He still was holding her wet swimsuit – all of a sudden, he seemed to remember and held it out to her, saying "I think that's your swimsuit, isn't it?" She took it, absent-mindedly, still looking in his face, surprise and bafflement in her eyes.

"Hey, you two down there… are you ever going to get up again, or are you going to hibernate on the floor?" someone bellowed at them. Swiftly, they both jumped to their feet, and the voice said sarcastically "Thanks, folks…"

However, they didn't notice.

"Yes," she confirmed, "it's mine – thank you…" They both came to their senses again when she stuffed the swimsuit into the small plastic bag it had fallen out of.

"Do you come here often?" he asked, still not quite believing what he had just realised… the mysterious woman in the red swimsuit that he had admired from the distance a couple of times already had indeed been Camille!

She shook her head and said "Not nearly often enough… I've been here a couple of times on weekends, maybe five or six times. It's a good way to keep fit, and it's not as expensive as a gym or so… And you? I didn't know that you swim… You never went swimming on Saint Marie…"

He pulled a face and explained a little awkwardly "Oh, you know, I couldn't - because of the sand and the strong sun. I mean… I burn easily, and you know how I feel about sand…"

She smiled and rolled her eyes – oh yes, she remembered his sand phobia only too well!

He added "I come here every once in a while, mostly on Saturdays… Usually, I try to go for runs on weekends, but with the weather being like this" – he gestured to the rain slashing on the windows – "I've been swimming again more often… I think I might have seen you a couple of times – from the distance… I thought… I thought I had been mistaken… but obviously not…"

She smiled now and said "I had no idea… What a coincidence this is… Someone in my course recommended this pool because it's clean and not overly expensive, and so I checked it out. It's not too far from where I live now, so it seemed like a good idea to go here regularly. And you – I mean, do you live far from here?"

He replied "Not really. Normally, I come here by bus, but I missed it this morning, so I walked – and I'm late, obviously. I usually try to be here earlier than this because it gets crowded later on."

She nodded and said "I see. Well, I don't want to keep you – but maybe we can go together some time? I'm not super-chatty when I go swimming – I just do my laps and that's it, but…"

"Oh, I know," he said, "and sometimes you jump off the five metres diving tower… although I didn't know it was you when I saw you doing that…"

Her eyes widened and she asked in disbelief "You did see _that_? Wow. That was several weeks ago, before I began to work at Islington! Well, anyway… We should really go swimming some time and then have breakfast together somewhere – that would be so much nicer than coming back to my empty flat…"

Then she realised how needy she sounded and hastened to add with a twinkle in her eyes "Well, next week, I'll be grocery shopping on Saturday because I have a special guest for dinner, but we could talk about going some other time…"

Still dumbstruck, he agreed – and then he tore himself away from her to get changed and start his training. He didn't see how Camille turned to watch him disappear in one of the cubicles, still in a bit of a daze with regard to this entirely unexpected coincidence…

* * *

On her way home, Camille couldn't help but shake her head in disbelief a couple of times… It was amazing how this encounter had happened – just by a fluke, he had been later than usual, and she had been out of the pool already, in the hallway… They obviously had missed each other several times already, and since he had only seen her from the distance, he hadn't been sure that it was really her, anyway. Not to mention that when she had jumped off the diving tower, he hadn't known that she was in the UK and consequently must have thought he was seeing a fata morgana and imagining things.

Still, the fact that he had been reminded of her at all… that surely was a sign that he had missed her… He had never said it to her, and although she had felt several times that they were in accord at work and had a good rapport, she had never heard him mentioning that he missed Saint Marie, the team or her. They had never really talked about it – it was more or less a taboo between them. Yes, she had explained what had brought her to the UK, but he hadn't asked much about Saint Marie, and he had clearly never said that he had missed her.

Well, if he had been thinking of her when he had seen 'the woman in the red swimsuit', then maybe he _had_ missed her…

She'd find out.

It also was encouraging to see that they shared an interest in keeping fit. She had suspected that he exercised on a regular basis, but he had never said anything about how and when he did so, and she hadn't wanted to ask. She had known that he went running, and now she knew that he also went swimming – and those were activities that she fancied, too.

She knew they had different reasons for their choice of activities – she would have joined a gym or a health club, but she just couldn't afford it at the moment with her currently rather limited budget - while for him, money most likely was the less relevant issue – he just wasn't the type who'd go to a gym and 'compete' with all the muscle-bound men he surely expected to be there. From experience, she knew that there weren't half as many brawny and muscular guys in gyms as he might think there were, and many men just went to a gym to strengthen their back muscles or because of some other health related issues, but Richard might have made other experiences in the past, and also, he was a solitary type who'd rather do things on his own, so running and swimming were good alternatives for him. One thing was sure – he didn't do either to impress anyone. He went running and swimming only for himself, not for anybody else.

She giggled a little when she remembered how Humphrey had suddenly taken up running and even tried surfing before she had left – actually it had been brave of him to do the latter that as he had absolutely no talent for it! – and it had been clear like crystal that he had done it to impress her. Only a fool would have assumed anything else. And how delighted he had been when she had said he was in pretty good shape – _for his age…_ That last part had perhaps been a bit mean, but she just couldn't help it – it had been necessary to bring him down a peg or two.

At least Humphrey hadn't been so obsessed with correct clothing – he hadn't seen anything 'defamatory' in wearing informal attire. Sometimes, his clothes had even been a bit too informal, on the verge of being sloppy… She remembered how often she had said 'Sir, your jacket is stained' or 'Is that a coffee stain on your shirt, sir?' He had been somewhat hopeless in that respect.

Come to think about it, it was a bit surprising that Richard – who was so easily embarrassed - didn't mind being seen in trunks, but then again – you didn't really see much of people's bodies in the water, and maybe even he didn't find it too outrageous to be seen half naked for the five minutes it took you to get from the showers into the water and back again after your training…

She tried to picture him in swimming gear, but couldn't quite imagine him that way. She had seen him in his pyjamas on Saint Marie a couple of times and found that he was well proportioned, and once she had seen him with an open collar and rolled up sleeves – that had actually been pretty exciting, considering how buttoned-up and formal he had usually been.

But swimming trunks? Hmmm. Well, maybe she'd get a chance some time to see him in those… He hadn't appeared to be all opposed to the idea of going together some time and having breakfast afterwards.

Actually, thinking about his outfits… she had been surprised by today's outfit, too – he had worn jeans and an anorak, along with dark leather ankle boots. She wouldn't have thought he'd own anything like that, but then again – she couldn't imagine anybody wanting to wear suits literally _all_ the time, so it was a bit foolish to be so surprised. It had looked really good on him… plus his hair had been tousled, and his face had been fresh from the cold air outside. He had looked more alive than he had ever done in the two years on Saint Marie.

When her bus arrived and she hopped on, she realised what she was thinking of, and she forced herself not to dwell on his appearance any longer, but go back to her original starting point: Running and swimming. Both were activities she enjoyed, too, and perhaps they could do that together… in a casual, non-committal way. Of course, they could also go to museums or galleries together – provided he didn't choose the most expensive ones, she was very willing to give that a try. So far, she had refrained from doing so as most museums were really expensive, and she didn't know anyone who'd come with her, anyway. She didn't mind going on her own, but she knew from experience that it could be a lot more fun if you had good company.

Well, whatever – it was fun to know that they might exercise together some time. It wouldn't be about competing, but about spending time with someone special… It was strange – her feelings for him were still as intense as they had been when he had lived on Saint Marie, yet they had changed – although it was hard to describe the difference. Basically, it seemed now that she had a deeper understanding for him, and that she discovered new facettes in him now that she saw him acting here on his home turf. He was the same person… but he was less on his guard around her, and it seemed that he wasn't so obsessed with hiding any more.

She remembered how he had responded to her instruction to leave his tie at home when she had invited him for dinner… 'As you wish' had been his words. She smiled – well, he wasn't a farmhand who had gone away from her to seek his fortune so they could get married, and she wasn't Buttercup who was left behind, had to assume he was dead and then got chosen to marry the crown prince of Florin, but she had surely ordered him around quite a bit during their acquaintance – she realised this now – and he had gone away… and they had found each other again under somewhat peculiar circumstances…

There were more parallels: As far as she was concerned, her feelings for him hadn't died. And there was a good case to believe that his for her hadn't died, either…

* * *

When Richard ate his eggs on toast for breakfast that he had made himself after he had got home from swimming, he couldn't help but think about the surprising encounter with Camille earlier today and shake his head in astonishment once again – what a coincidence that had been. And she had looked amazing – her outfit hadn't been special in any way, but she had looked incredibly young and alive with her curly open hair and her fresh face.

He was still baffled that she was _really_ the woman in the red swimsuit, and he couldn't quite get his head around the fact that they had been in the same place a couple of times without being aware of it. But well, life worked in mysterious ways.

Had she been serious about going swimming together some time? Well, it would depend on how Saturday evening would go whether or not her suggestion would be realised… If all went well, they might do it… Or they could go for walks together or to museums… Was she interested in that sort of thing at all? He wasn't sure. She had always tried to give him a better idea of what Saint Marie was like and which places were worth a visit – maybe he should make the same effort and introduce her to a few places of interest over here?

He hoped the next week would go smoothly and he wouldn't have to face any major upheaval at work. It would be easier for him to get mentally prepared for Saturday evening if he had a clear head and mind, and if things got too busy at work, he'd find it hard to shrug that off…

They had a few more or less irritating cases going on at the moment, and although the department was well organised and efficient, he was a little worried.

Well, whatever would be, would be. For the moment, he had other things to consider – his house looked like a hovel, and he'd better finish his meal and get started on his chores…


	10. Dinner at Camille's

Chapter 10- Dinner at Camille's

Camille peeked into the casserole on the stove where the meat was simmering. It was perfect – and she hoped Richard would like it. She had been debating with herself whether she should rather go for rice, potatoes or dumplings along with the goulash and then had decided for the latter – it was no issue for her to prepare the dumplings, and it was more 'authentic', as she had read in the recipe. Her mother had got it from a friend many years ago. They had trained in the same restaurant, and her friend had Austrian roots, so this was actually an old family recipe. She had also prepared a tossed salad as a side dish – the recipe had recommended red cabbage, but that sounded odd to her, and she felt you couldn't go wrong with a salad.

A mini bottle of prosecco was waiting in her fridge, along with a small bottle of homemade elderberry liqueur, a housewarming gift from her neighbour. According to him, a tablespoon of the liqueur, mixed with prosecco, the faintest _hint_ of lime juice and some mineral water would make a good aperitif. It was more common to have it in summer, but Camille felt that it was just as nice in winter! She had tried it the evening before and had been pleasantly surprised by the taste. She had even got a little mint plant in the supermarket for the decorative effect of having mint leaves in the cocktail.

Even though Richard didn't like lime (right… he _hated_ lime!), he would surely not mind it in this combination. Camille was convinced that he wouldn't even notice that there was lime in it – it was really just a tiny trace of it, and it didn't come out at all. It just added to the drink in the combination of ingredients, and leaving it out made it appear dull. And if he noticed and felt provoked, she could always say that it had been for old times sake and that she had wanted to find out if his taste had maybe changed. She wanted this evening to turn out well, but she didn't want to appear desperate, all too ready to comply with all his idiosyncrasies and quirks. She knew that she'd have to make compromises, but he should also see that she was no doormat and he'd have to make an effort, too. She was quite sure he wouldn't blow up at her – even he wouldn't do that to her in her own home…

She had also prepared a rich chocolate blancmange, with banana slices as a surprise at the bottom of the dessert bowls … It was pointless to buy tons of different fruit for a salad as she'd have too many leftovers, and at this time of the year, it wasn't so easy to find good fruit, anyway, without spending a fortune, so she had decided to go for something that would suit his sweet tooth, but wouldn't be too extravagant. Hopefully, he'd like it… She whipped some cream, put it into the fridge and finally looked around.

Everything was just the way she wanted it… the sofa looked inviting, though not provocatively so, the armchair looked comfortable, the tiny coffee table was tidy. The small dining table was set with a dark green tablecloth and colourful paper napkins; she had put several tea lights on the coffee table and the window sill (safely placed in appropriate holders, of course) – next to the small cactus that her neighbour had brought along with the elderberry liqueur.

Right… now she only had to get changed. She knew that Richard wouldn't wear a suit and tie tonight as she had asked him to dress informally, but she figured she'd be on the safe side if she wore something smarter than jeans and a simple casual blouse or sweatshirt. So, she got into black chinos and a wine-red cotton blouse – she rolled up the sleeves to make it look a little less formal, and the top buttons were open so the neckline of her black camisole was visible. Along with that, she wore simple gold studs and an unostentatious golden necklace with a small anchor-shaped pendant. It wasn't anything overly expensive, yet it looked elegant and refined on her. She loved this little pendant that her mother had given her when she had left for her training in France all those years ago – it was a traditional symbol for hope, as Catherine had explained, but it was also supposed to remind her of home and the safe harbour she'd always have there.

She had just finished brushing her hair when the doorbell rang. He was so predictable – she had said he should show up between 7.30 and 8 – and it was 7.45 now. She checked the intercom, just to make sure it was really him, and a few moments after she had opened the door to the house, she heard him coming up the steps. Her stomach flipped when she saw him through the peephole, there at her flat door, nervously smoothing his hair before pressing the bell next to her door. She didn't open immediately, but let a few seconds pass – not because she wanted to keep him waiting, but because she felt she needed a moment to regain her inner poise.

Of course, the first few minutes were a little awkward. Richard clearly wasn't used to this kind of scenario, but Camille pretended not to notice it and hoped he'd feel comfortable fairly quickly. The truth was that she also was a little nervous – she hadn't invited a man to her home in ages, after all – the last time had been when she had lived in France, and that had been different – they had been friends, and it had been a 'thank you' because said man had helped her with something important, and there hadn't been any hidden agenda or romantic interest on either side.

During her time on Saint Marie, she had only met up with men in 'neutral' places – in bars, on the beach or in restaurants. Not that she had had an awful lot of dates – many men had been discouraged by her self-confident behaviour, and after the first date, usually no further dates had followed. She hadn't been unhappy about that – it wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed the company of the men she had met; it was more that she didn't see herself fitting into the picture of the future that they had painted.

Fortunately, Richard began to feel more at ease after a little while. He had handed her a gift bag with a bottle of wine, pointing out that he had wanted to contribute to the meal, and while she had taken the bottle out of the package, admiring the label and smiling as she remembered how he had compared her to a mature Rioja so many moons ago and how she had thought he had called her 'old', he had put the other bag on the sideboard and taken out a potted plant, carefully wrapped in several layers of paper. He removed the wrapping paper, and out came a wonderful white orchid that he presented her, saying "I didn't want to come empty-handed to your new place, but wasn't sure what you needed for the household, and then I figured flowers are never a mistake, so… I got this for you…"

Camille was touched – she recalled how he had given her flowers at another time… it almost seemed now like that had been in another life, actually. She took the orchid from him, leant over and kissed him on the cheek, saying softly "How thoughtful of you, Richard – thank you so much!"

She admired it properly then, noticing that he had also invested in a pretty white cachepot. He said a little awkwardly "I hope you like that pot. Since I didn't know anything about the colours in your home, I went for white as that goes with literally any other colour. The only other option was brown, and that looked a bit sad. In any case, the orchid should do fine if you place it by the window. I thought it might – it might remind you of home and brighten up the dreariness around here – obviously, I couldn't get a frangipani bush for you! There's also a little note in the pot regarding the care, but I'm not sure how detailed it is…"

"I'll have to check how to take care of it – it's so beautiful, I don't want to make a mistake with it… It definitely looks more impressive than my only other house plant… look, my next door neighbour gave me a cactus! And he doesn't even know me yet – he has no idea how appropriate his gift is…"

Camille laughed. Noticing Richard's slightly quizzical glance, she added with an impish smile "For the records, he's gay. Lovely man, but slightly exalted, if you ask me. Gave me a lecture on how to look after the cactus – I hope it will survive, otherwise he'll be 'deeply disappointed', as he announced…"

Richard had taken off his coat in the meantime, and Camille gave him a hanger, pointing at the coat rack in a corner of her very tiny hallway. As he put the outer garment away, she looked surreptitiously at him, checking out his outfit – he wore dark blue slacks along with a light blue shirt and a heather grey cashmere cardigan – she was surprised to see him wearing something so pricey. She wouldn't have thought he'd be willing to spend more than average on clothing. "That's a nice cardigan," she said casually, hoping she'd find out something about it – and indeed, his eyes lit up – obviously he was pleased with the compliment - and he said "Yes, isn't it – my mother gave it to me for my last birthday. It seems she realised I have quite enough shirts, socks and ties by now, so it was time for something else… I may get a few more cardigans and jumpers in the future…"

She chuckled, remembering how he had grumbled a little when the birthday package he had received years ago on Saint Marie had contained a shirt, a set of socks and a tie… all of which he had more than enough, as everybody knew. But then again, it wasn't easy to find gifts for him as he was so picky with everything and didn't seem to have any particular hobbies and interests – or at least none that his parents could relate to.

After the initial self-consciousness on both sides was overcome, Camille came up with the aperitif – and much to her delight, Richard didn't hate it. He did notice that there was a hint of lime in it, but in combination with the elderberry liqueur he didn't mind.

"Mind you," he said, "I might hate lime per se, but in _this_ combination, it's actually quite good. Just shows that you shouldn't be too categorical about things, I suppose!"

Camille had to hide her amusement – he was learning, after all: he was clearly trying to be amenable and pleasant. On Saint Marie he would never have given her the satsifaction of openly liking anything with lime in it! She interpreted that as a good sign…

He also liked her goulash and praised it generously, and he _loved_ the chocolate blancmange. The bananas had the desired effect – he was surprised and delighted. She was happy to see that he still loved bananas!

Camille was very pleased with herself. She had to admit, though, that the wine he had brought also was delicious… He had clearly not taken the cheapest bottle of the rack!

Richard looked around and asked "So this is your new flat?" She nodded and said "Before you ask – it came furnished, and yes, it's pretty obvious that the owners have a preference for a certain Swedish furniture store… but I don't mind. I think the only piece of furniture they didn't buy there is the bed. It's smaller than the usual double they sell, but wider than the regular single. Quite weird, and it's a bit awkward when it comes to bed linen, but I'm not bothered – I found two fitted sheets that I can put on in turns, and apart from that, I just use standard size stuff."

He blushed as he heard her mentioning the bed – that was something he didn't want to think of at the moment… if at all, actually. It made him nervous.

Camille didn't seem to notice – she got up and took the dishes to the sink. As she turned around, she asked "Want to move over to the sitting area? That's a bit more comfortable than the dinner table, I'd think."

He took his glass, and Camille asked him to sit down on the sofa while she'd go and wash her hands.

She wondered how she could make him understand that she wanted more from him than just friendship… She didn't want to be too straightforward, but by the same token, she had to be clear about it… She sighed a little – he was a lot better than he had been, but still, it was difficult with him. You had to tread lightly so he wouldn't run away. And of course, they needed to talk about a few things… how would he take her attempts to clarify the issues she had been wondering about?

Of course, she knew that nothing overly 'physical' would happen tonight – well, at least they wouldn't make out on the carpet or do something outrageous in that vein. He was far too afraid of anything that would go beyond cuddling at this point – and it wouldn't be a good idea, anyway, given the fact that they worked together… However, cuddling sounded good to her, and she hoped that at least they'd get to the stage where they might kiss – that would be a good start, wouldn't it…

She was a little concerned, though - she had noticed his edginess, and although he had got more comfortable during dinner, she realised that he was seriously out of practice when it came to spending time with a woman – well, that implied he had ever been 'in practice', and she had her doubts about that… There was a tension about him that indicated that his feelings for her were similar to how she felt about him – and that showed that – while he was willing to play along to a certain degree – he was scared of what might come out of tonight.

When she came back, she found him sitting on the sofa, leafing through one of the travel magazines she kept on a side table. She had bought it because it featured a special about Paris. There also were articles about India, Australia and Scandinavia – all places she was fascinated with for different reasons. He held up the magazine to her, pointing at a picture of a beach in Goa, and said "Now, that looks pretty much like Saint Marie, doesn't it?"

She was surprised that he spoke about Saint Marie – she had been fairly cautious not to touch the subject too frequently, but this gave her a good opening, and she replied "Yes, doesn't it? Still, it's different… I mean, look at the people and how they are dressed…"

She dimmed the light and lit the candles before she plopped into the armchair – she wanted to be near him, but then again… she didn't want to frighten him, and maybe she could move over to the sofa eventually when the time was right…

The half dark room with the discreet light coming mainly from the candles created a cosy, relaxed atmosphere, and very quickly, they were engaged in a conversation about travelling in general (and he pointed out that his parents had been bitten by the travel bug ever since they had come to Saint Marie), the UK and the Commonwealth, the Caribbean… and finally memories of Saint Marie. They reminisced about old cases, and she wound him up about how uptight he had been in some situations, reminded him of their encounter with the butler in the case of the bride who had fallen out of the hotel window, and teased him about Megan Talbot.

"Mind you, she really made sheep's eyes at you," Camille remarked with a snigger. "Yeah, I know," he said – and then he added "But it was all out of wanting to manipulate me, as I found out rather quickly… It was a little too obvious, mind you…"

She smiled, and after a little pause, she asked hesitantly "Do you ever miss it?"

"What – being manipulated?" he asked back and added immediately "I still get plenty of attempts in that vein, you know, though not quite in the same way..."

She rolled her eyes at him and giggled a little. "Oh, you're impossible… No, I mean, do you miss Saint Marie? Obviously, you had issues with the climate and the sand and the wildlife… but still… do you miss it, sometimes?"

He took a sip of wine and said thoughtfully "You know, Camille, strangely enough, I do. I do miss the sound of the waves, and I miss Harry… and other… things. But I'm here now… so it's pointless to dwell on it, isn't it?"

She looked down on her hands for a moment. Then her head went up again, and she said softly, looking straight into his eyes "Yes, you are here now… And so am I." For a moment, she thought she had noticed there was a little flicker in his eyes, a hint of an emotion she couldn't quite pinpoint, but then she dismissed the thought.

Then she continued "You know… what I've been asking myself all this time, Richard… I've been wondering… _did_ you find peace of mind… without me?"

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. This conversation was getting dangerous… He didn't really want to talk about this, but by the same token, he knew that they had to sort this out somehow. He put his wine glass back on the table, carefully making sure that it was set down on the little napkin that she had placed there instead of a coaster, and took a deep breath before he confessed "Not really. I would have thought I could, but it didn't work the way I had anticipated. But in my defence I have to say that – at the time - I really believed it was better to go. I felt I was in a dead end on Saint Marie, and there were so many factors that made me doubt I was in the right place. It was unbelievably satisfying in regard to work – and I've learnt a lot on Saint Marie… about myself, about team spirit, about… about people. It might not appear that way, but I've found all that very rewarding and useful. But I wasn't well a lot of the time, physically, I mean, and I felt I didn't belong there. Of course, having said that… I don't belong _anywhere_ , do I… It's just that here I can at least pretend to fit in, and I felt that in the UK I would be…" – he faltered, and Camille finished the sentence for him by asking "… safer?"

He nodded quietly, his eyes cast down. It was silent for a moment. Would she laugh at him now?

Camille put down her glass and got up to move over to the sofa. It was time for a confession…

She kneeled next to him, so she could look into his face, and said haltingly "I've often wondered how you've been faring since you left. And I've got to tell you something… I was devastated when you left, you know… Actually, I cried my eyes out over your transfer…"

His head jolted up and he looked at her incredulously.

She continued "Remember how you said I'd be better off without you? Well, I was definitely _not_ better off without you… I was determined to forget you, but I couldn't. Then I e-mailed you, and you replied in such a cold way that I kind of gave up – but it didn't work. I tried to deny it, but I missed you. Every single day. Nothing was the same any more. I didn't mind your successor, Humphrey is a good fellow, he's friendly and empathic and funny, and he's a brilliant detective… but it wasn't the same any more. Working with you – _being_ with you - was so much more rewarding. And I missed our interaction, I missed our tiffs, I missed our banter… I missed _you_ … It was difficult. I didn't want to miss you, but I did… oh, so much! It just didn't stop, although I tried to ignore it. I tried to close that chapter, but it just didn't work out. I know it sounds sentimental, but I couldn't forget you – and I was upset because apparently you had forgotten me, and I couldn't do the same thing. Eventually, I realised I wanted to leave – I wanted to move on, and I didn't really have any good reasons for staying. Like you, I felt I was in a dead end. I almost took on undercover work again – in France – but then the Commissioner came up with this course, and I came here."

She drew in a deep breath and continued "I was excited, it's something new, and I enjoy it – most of the time. During the first module, I realised how much I had learnt from you – and how much I had already forgotten again because Humphrey hadn't put any pressure on me to follow the correct procedures in every situation. I've also realised what it's like to live in a completely foreign country – I had always thought I knew because I had lived in France, but I had not realised that I was familiar with the cultural background there because of my mother and the lifestyle on Saint Marie – which still is full of French traditions. That makes a huge difference. I've met people, and I wouldn't say I'm deeply lonely, but there are times when I… when I feel that nobody can relate to my background… I think… I think I understand you better now. And the past weeks at the station have been fun… it's been good working with a team again – and with _you_. I had deliberately _not_ tried to find you, but I had kind of hoped to see you again when I moved to the UK, though I hadn't expected it to happen so soon and under these circumstances… And while I was annoyed at first that I was supposed to be your trainee, I have to say you did a nice job in turning that awkward situation around and coming up with a much better way of handling it…"

She smiled now. His eyes got wider and wider as he listened to her confession – this was almost getting a little overpowering...

She moved closer yet – he got more nervous as he could almost feel her breath on his face when she said very softly "I want you to know, Richard, that I might see some things differently now… compared to how I saw them back on Saint Marie… but my feelings for you…" – she noticed how he got clearly flustered now and didn't quite know where to look and what to do with his hands – "my feelings for you haven't changed… or rather… they _have_ changed… they've become deeper…"

She could see how it started to dawn on him what she was trying to say and what she was up to, how a certain gleam suddenly appeared in his eyes, disappearing again when some unknown thought or feeling came up, how his hands were restlessly sliding over his thighs, clinging to the material of his trousers, making a feeble attempt at keeping still… she would have laughed if she had been a spectator, but since she was actively involved, it didn't occur to her that his behaviour could be perceived as funny.

He seemed to realise that she expected him to say something now, so he shifted a little, cleared his throat and said hoarsely "Um…"

Then he fell silent again, helplessly looking into her eyes, not knowing what to do. She came even closer and whispered "Did you miss me, too? At least a little bit? You know, you _could_ tell me now… if not with words, then… I also understand body language, as you know…"

He _almost_ forgot his self-doubts and his worries as he looked into her eyes – but there was still a hint of insecurity and hesitation in his movements when his hands slowly slid up her arms. He didn't dare and pull her towards him, it was more that she fell into his arms, and this finally did the trick – he caught her, his grip tightened around her, and then she felt his lips on hers. She moved to straddle him, her lips opened, and she felt his coming apart, too – and in an instant they were transported back in time, to the moment in his shack when she had kissed him goodbye.

Oh, it felt so good… There was the same longing, the same hunger, the same passion.

But something was different: There was much more sweetness in their kiss this time – and no despair… She felt his hands roaming over her back; one of them was finding its way under her blouse, stroking her flank and making her shiver. For long moments, they stayed like this – in each other's arms, kissing, exploring one another slowly and tenderly, cuddling and stroking each other. As passionate as their initial kiss had been - he was sweet, almost innocent in his shyness to touch her. Camille knew exactly that he felt unsure about the situation, but he obviously wanted this too much to pull back.

Her fingers slipped into the open collar of his shirt, caressing his nape, moving up to his hair, back to his shoulders, down his upper arms; slowly she began disentangling herself from him. He seemed a little surprised, but let her move freely, resting his hands on her thighs. It was obvious that he wanted her to lead the way, so she opened her blouse, and with an encouraging glance she took his hands and placed them on her breasts. His eyes widened, and for a moment he seemed unable to move. She sighed and whispered "You can stop ogling now, Richard, you're allowed to touch me…"

Almost automatically, he answered "I do not ogle, Camille…" His voice sounded slightly strained, and she gave a choked giggle before whispering "Oh, shut up, Richard… just feel me…"

"Really, Camille… one moment you want me to say something, then again…"

His voice trailed off.

Camille felt his insecurity – he wanted to cover it up with flippancy, but it didn't work in this situation.

Her splayed hands covered his, she moved her fingers and palms, showing him what she wanted. The inviting smile on her face convinced him that she was serious, and tentatively, he began fondling and kneading her breasts lightly and let his thumbs brush over her erect nipples, hidden under the camisole that she wore. She let out a little moan as she felt them getting even harder under his touch and bent down to kiss him again, cupping his face with her hands and teasing his tongue with hers. She moved closer yet, her hair fell over his face, tickling him gently, her breath quickened as he responded ardently to her kiss, and she felt a sudden wave of pure lust washing over her. She also felt his body reacting to hers, and she was sorely tempted to push down the last fences between them and make him understand just how deep her desire to be with him really was…

However, Camille also realised that Richard was totally floored with this development, and although she knew that she could seduce him here and now, she realised that it could easily taint their relationship if they went too far too quickly. She knew precisely how important it was for him to be in control, and if she pushed too far, he'd perhaps blame her for steamrollering him later on…

No, she didn't want them to get to the point of no return and have regrets afterwards – so they'd better take it slowly and let him decide when the time was right. He wasn't there yet, and in fact, she wasn't, either…

So, after a few more moments of pure bliss, she tore herself away from him and sat back, her knees right next to his thighs, her heels on the same level as his knees. They were both breathing heavily, and although she could see that he was disappointed that she had pulled out, there was also relief in his gaze, and she knew she had done the right thing by restraining herself.

Their eyes were locked and she said in a very low voice "It's not true that you don't belong anywhere… you could belong with me… You know what this means?"

He nodded slowly and whispered with a slightly unsteady voice "I think so, yes, and I'd love that… And it may not sound very manly, but I'm honestly a little overwhelmed…"


	11. Progress

Chapter 11 - Progress

It was Sunday afternoon, and Richard decided that despite the fairly dismal weather he'd go out for a walk. Preferably a long one… He needed to reflect on last night's momentous developments – and fresh air would surely help. So, he put on his coat, took his keys and left the house, heading to a nearby park from where he could access a little patch of forest. It would perhaps be a wet and muddy walk, but it would do him good. He still was somewhat baffled by what had happened last night – when he had accepted Camille's invitation, he had known that it would be about spending time together, maybe talking about a few things from the past, and hopefully about getting closer – although he hadn't had any idea about how that would happen… but he hadn't expected the evening to turn out _quite_ like that…

It had been past midnight when he had come home – by cab. If he was completely honest with himself…. he had been tempted to just stay and let things happen – at the same time, he had been scared... and there were so many good reasons for _not_ rushing it!

Fortunately, Camille had pulled back before they had completely lost control. Of course, if it had only been up to him, the evening would _never_ have turned out like that… he wouldn't have made a move, not yet… if ever… but it had been a dream come true when she had taken the initiative and kissed him again (he had never forgotten the kiss they had shared in his shack… it had been the only real kiss of love he had ever shared with someone), and thanks to her 'assistance' and encouragement, he had felt entirely comfortable with touching and caressing her –and it had given him a clue of what she liked! Honestly, _he_ had liked it, too, but he wouldn't have dared touching her like that without her spurring him on…

It had cost him more restraint than he cared to admit not to let his hands slide _under_ the smooth material of her camisole, feel her bare skin and touch her swelling breasts with their hard peaks that were right there, in front of him…

He had been _so_ tempted…

He had _so_ wanted to see her, feel her, touch her… but then again, somehow, it had felt safer having that last barrier of cotton material between her body and his hands.

For the moment, at least.

In all honesty, if they had continued their actions just a little bit longer, they could easily have ended up on the sofa together, making love and forgetting everything else around them…

He was grateful that she had pulled the ripcord, though. It wasn't so much that he would have had doubts about his lack of experience at this point – when she had kissed him and they had started to touch and caress one another, he had realised that things would fall into place somehow… The way she had reacted to his touch had given him confidence, and he hadn't been afraid of failure any more. Although he was sure that she had sensed it, she hadn't laughed about his insecurity, about his fear to be too clumsy and not refined enough, no - she had clearly given him to understand that his actions had been very welcome and that she was savouring the situation.

This had been entirely different from his previous experiences with women – she wasn't some superficial acquaintance… she wasn't aggressively trying to turn him on and make him do things he wasn't quite ready for (yet), and she hadn't picked him up in some pub or bar, either; they had known (and liked) each other for quite a while already – good heavens, it had been about four years ago since they had first met! – and it hadn't been a mix of despair, frustration, and lust that had driven them to this. She had wanted _him_ , not just anyone - he hadn't just been a nameless face in a pub, and they did care about one another…

No, there hadn't been any frustration or despair this time. However, _lust_ had been involved – he admitted that much to himself. Oh, how much he had wanted her… And it hadn't only been him – she had been gentle, but she had also shown him very clearly that she saw him as desirable (maybe even as _sexy_? Or was that too presumptuous? It wasn't a notion he'd associate with himself, but there had been that look in her eyes, not to mention the way she had kissed him, the way her hands had touched him…), and that she wanted him, too. Her breath had quickened, her little moans under his touch had been unequivocal, and she had clearly arched into his touch… He had also felt her hands in his hair, her lips on his face – she had been tender and soft in his arms, but despite his confusion, he _had_ noticed how she had restrained herself… Never had he dared to dream that she'd want him like this… Of course, he had fantasised about it, but he hadn't thought it would happen any time soon. Not this evening, anyway… he hadn't expected her to be so straightforward. Although, of course, Camille usually made no bones about what she wanted, so maybe he had been a little naïve when he had thought nothing would happen…

If he was honest with himself, he was still somewhat scared of where they'd go from here… He _wanted_ to be with her, but he had no idea how this all would work in real life.

The fact remained that they would have to work together for a few more weeks, and that was one of the main reasons why neither of them wanted to go too far too soon. After Camille had sat back on his knees, told him that they could _belong together_ if he just wanted it and asked him if he knew what this meant – and he had admitted that he'd love that, but also felt a little overwhelmed - they had just sat like this for a little while, looking in each other's eyes in silence. He hadn't been quite sure if his answer had been what she had wanted to hear, but it had been the only response he could give her at that point… he wanted them to be together, but the situation was just as scary as it was wonderful. He knew that it might appear odd for a man of his age, but he felt that he wanted to take things slowly, one step at a time.

She had then moved to sit sideways on his lap and he had just held her for a while, listening to her breathing. Slowly, they had recovered from their outburst of emotions and desire. Then, she had started to talk and share what she had on her mind. She had whispered that she didn't want them to rush and that - while she wanted to be with him - she didn't want them to go too far too quickly and move to a stage that they weren't quite ready for yet.

He had been relieved to hear that.

"And also, this is not Saint Marie," she had said. "If we were there, we wouldn't have to worry about non-fraternisation rules, but over here, it's different – and as long as I work in your department, we shouldn't sleep together…"

He had blushed at her mentioning it so openly – yes, he had realised that she must have felt how much he'd wanted her (it was hard for men to hide their desire, wasn't it!), but he wasn't used to talking about this topic at all, and although he figured he knew everything there was to know about the birds and the bees and wasn't _entirely_ inexperienced, he just had never talked about it with anyone. Camille had laughed a little when she had noticed his body slightly stiffening as she had talked about them sleeping together at some point…

She had looked into his eyes and said teasingly "I do hope we'll get there eventually, Richard… or did you mean to fob me off with kisses and fumbling?" He had turned scarlet then – at least he thought he must have as he had felt his face getting hot – and stuttered "Well… er… I… don't really… I mean, maybe, with time… er - we will…" – and then he had given up and just looked at her, slightly reproachfully and clearly in a fluster.

She had smiled and slid her hand over his chest before taking up the thread again and saying matter-of-factly "The thing is, I don't really care all that much about what others think, but in this case, I believe it's important to act respectably and correctly so there won't be a shadow of a doubt about our conduct. I don't want Chuck Norris to know about our relationship, and I don't want people to draw incorrect conclusions. Once I've left your department, we can be more open about it. But this is only one aspect… The other thing is… there hasn't been anyone in my life in quite a while, and I'm used to being on my own… I need personal space, and it will be an adjustment to have someone in my life again, that's for sure. And I feel you need space, too… and that you don't want to take a step you might not be ready for at this point."

He had nodded, slightly hesitantly. Was it wrong to feel that way? He had always kind of thought that when you fell in love, it was expected that you'd have to feel the need to spend every minute together, and while he wanted to be with her, he knew he couldn't bear not being by himself at least every once in a while…

Camille had reassured him that this was an entirely normal feeling, and that it was fine to do things on one's own. It had been a relief to find out that she didn't expect them to be like attached at the hip. And it had also been a relief to find out that she wanted to take things slowly before moving on to the next level. It had felt good to have her snuggled up to him, without expectations, just feeling safe and secure together. For the moment, that was good enough for him… and for her, too, as it seemed.

Eventually, he had whispered "I'd better go now, Camille… I don't want to, but it's time…"

She had nodded and said "I know. Let's get a cab for you…"

Before he had left her flat, she had kissed him again and said softly "Thank you for… for being understanding and not rushing it, no matter how… how difficult it might be. I've waited for this to happen for a long time, and we… we could have lost it easily. You can't imagine how hard it was to pull back earlier tonight… but I'm glad we managed…"

He had almost changed his mind as he had seen her standing in the doorway, her hair mussed, her glossy lips slightly opened, and her eyes shining… yes, she had been such a temptation!

But then he had turned around and left… and he knew it had been the right decision.

He wanted their first time together to be something special – not that he expected the angels to sing and the earth to move under their feet (or whatever!), but he didn't want it to happen on a sofa, or on the floor, or on some other makeshift 'facility'. He wanted it to be cosy, romantic, memorable… and – most important! - in a proper bed.

* * *

Camille stood by the window and looked out – it was drizzling. She had just sent a long e-mail to her mother. She hadn't felt like skyping with her in a while now, and it was difficult with the time difference, anyway. And of course, it was easier to tell her about the most recent development by e-mail – that way, she knew she wouldn't get interrupted, and she could say what she wanted to get off her chest without having to deal with an immediate reaction. She had told her that she had met Richard again during her internship and that they had rekindled their friendship… she had also explained that while nothing had happened between them yet (technically, that was the truth – she didn't intend to tell her mother all the details about how they had been snogging on the sofa and how both of them had clearly been aroused… that was between Richard and her and nobody else's business, not even her mother's! Or rather… let alone her mother's…), she was 'fairly sure' that they'd get beyond the friendship level eventually – as long as they worked together, it wouldn't happen, though.

She wasn't quite sure how Catherine would react to the news, but given the fact that she had encouraged her to try and find Richard so they could sort out their issues, she hoped that she'd understand. It was pointless to worry, though – she knew what she wanted, and it seemed that Richard also was sure about himself and his wishes.

At least she hoped so… After she had let him go the night before, she had started to wonder if maybe it had been wrong to make her move on him – and then say she didn't want more at this point… Hadn't that been cruel? She had felt somewhat let down herself – and she imagined that he might feel the same way, no matter how nervous he might have been about the situation…

But then again, they both were aware of their work situation, and neither of them wanted things to get out of control and start something they couldn't handle at this point. And really, she honestly didn't want to rush things. It was true that she needed space; she had been by herself for a long time, and the fact that she was on this course that would finish with an important exam made it all the more complicated… she couldn't just focus on her personal well-being at the moment, there was more she had to deal with right now.

She wanted him in her life, and she was sure now that he wanted her in his, too, but they weren't careless teenagers on school holidays any more who could live without a thought for tomorrow.

However… hadn't he been disappointed when she had tried to explain her feelings? She had felt his arousal, and she had wanted more, too… it would have been so easy to just let go and 'slip' into making love…

It had been good to just cuddle a little after their initial sizzling kiss, but for how long could they keep this up? Wouldn't they lose their heads rather sooner than later?

She sighed. Then her eyes fell on the orchid he had given her. It really was amazingly beautiful. And she was sure that he hadn't picked it as a 'generic gift', but rather because he knew she liked orchids… she had said so when he had given her a bunch after Aimée had died.

She remembered that she had wanted to look up how to take care of it, and a few minutes later, she was engaged in reading about orchids on the internet…

* * *

At the other side of the planet, Catherine checked her e-mail. She had noticed recently that Camille had been reluctant to chat with her on the phone or via skype, so she had figured that something had happened that her daughter didn't want to communicate. She knew her, though – once Camille had resolved the issue, she'd send an e-mail and explain…

And so she wasn't really surprised when she saw that a long e-mail from Camille had arrived – maybe she had finally sorted out whatever had been bugging her.

She opened the message, and her eyes widened as she was reading it. She had always known that Camille hadn't got over Richard's departure, although she had really tried, and she had been aware of the feelings that she had been nursing – but she hadn't been entirely sure about Richard's feelings, so she was a little surprised. Although Jennifer had always pointed out his reluctance to talk about Saint Marie and the team – which indicated that it was an unresolved issue for him – Catherine had thought Richard would be too over-cautious and hesitant to give a possible relationship a chance. Maybe she had under-estimated him, and his feelings had been much stronger and more persistent than she had perceived them to be?

Whatever, she was certainly pleased for Camille. The work scenario sounded a bit daunting, but it was only a few more weeks, and apparently they hadn't reached the level of a more intimate relationship yet, so there was no reason to worry at this point, particularly since Camille had pointed out that he was not her supervisor and she would receive her report from someone else.

Well, well, well… Catherine smiled to herself as she opened her e-mail client and composed a message to her friend Jennifer…

* * *

Jennifer Poole squealed with delight when she read Catherine's e-mail. So, her son had got his second chance – how _marvellous_ that Camille and he had met again. According to Catherine, it had been pure coincidence – that was almost too good to be true! Now she was nearly sorry to know that she and Graham wouldn't be there for Christmas and New Year – they could have invited Richard and Camille…

Then, however, she re-read the message and realised that they were still far from being an 'established' couple. Camille obviously had pointed out that she and Richard couldn't really 'get involved' as long as they worked together in the same station. And indeed, she remembered from Graham's active time as a Superintendent that relationships between team members or – more generally speaking – colleagues at the same station had been frowned upon, and that efforts had been made to get one of the partners transferred to another workplace fairly quickly. As Catherine had emphasised, nobody would have cared about it on Saint Marie, but the situation was different in the UK.

Well, from what Jennifer knew, Camille would have two weeks off over Christmas and move on to another training module then, so they wouldn't have to hide much longer. What a relief – she couldn't wait for her son to finally be happy with a nice woman who loved him the way he deserved it… and maybe there were even _grandchildren_ on the agenda?

Just in time, she realised that she was already counting her chicken before they had hatched and reined in her fantasies. Maybe it was actually good that she and Graham would go away for their cruise. That way, Richard and Camille could get their act together without being under surveillance – and that would surely made it a lot easier for them…

She hoped she'd manage to keep this exciting secret to herself – she didn't want Graham to think that she and Catherine had plotted this all together. She knew only too well that he didn't want to interfere with Richard's life. Their relationship had always been somewhat tense, but over the past few years it had become better, and Graham would not want to risk that by giving his son the impression that his parents were meddling with his life.

* * *

The next two weeks went by fairly quickly. Richard and Camille managed to behave normally around the team at work – it helped that things were busy, and the cases that Richard had already categorised as irritating had partly turned out to be even trickier than anticipated, so neither of them had much time to dwell on their relationship – or whatever it was.

Initially, they had both been a little shy and self-conscious when they had seen each other again at the station. Camille had known that it was up to her to make another move – Richard was clearly waiting for her to set the pace, so she had made an effort to give him little signs, and he had taken his cue from her quickly.

Just like he had brought her coffee sometimes, she had brought jelly babies to the office one day and made sure that he got an extra portion.

In turn, he had left a little treat in her desk one day – he worked long hours sometimes, so it had been easy for him to slip chocolates into her desk drawers. Since they had been very cautious and had just done it once, nobody had noticed.

On a few occasions, they had been in the tea kitchen at the same time, and while their conversations had only been either about the cases or about some harmless everyday topic, their smiles and glances had conveyed their mutual affection, and Camille had noticed that Richard had touched her more often – when he was handing her a mug or putting the kettle on, he'd – quite accidentally - let his fingers linger on her hand or on her arm… She did the same, and somehow it felt reassuring…

They were 'courting' each other in the real and pure meaning of the word, and although it sounded hopelessly old-fashioned, they both enjoyed it. Camille actually was surprised at how giddy it made her feel. None of her previous relationships had been like this, and she loved how this was keeping her on her toes.

On Friday – two weeks after their memorable dinner together - Camille – who had caught a slight cold and didn't want to go swimming at this point – asked if he wanted to go for a walk with her some time on the weekend, and he suggested they'd take the train on Saturday around noon and go sightseeing in a town about an hour away. She had never been there so far, and so she happily agreed. They had a good time as they explored the sites and the streets together. There even was a little Christmas market with stalls on the main square, and it had been fun to see what was available there. Camille also wanted to have a look at the small shops, and eventually, they had cake and hot chocolate together in a small café.

Camille played with the little potted poinsettia on their table. The holidays were only a couple of weeks away now, and the shops and restaurants were all decorated accordingly.

Casually, Richard asked "So, what are you going to do for Christmas?" He hoped she'd say she didn't have any plans, but she looked up and said "Oh, I'll go to Paris. My friends Isabelle and Alain have invited me to spend the holidays with them. The plans currently are somewhat on hold because Alain's father has been taken to hospital in the end of November. But according to Alain, everything should work out fine, and I'll leave on Christmas Eve. I'll be back before the New Year, though, as it will be hard to get flights during the first week of January, and I have to get ready for the next module at the training centre. It will start in the second week of the New Year. And you – will you do anything special?"

He took another bite of his cake, shrugged and said "I don't think I'll do anything spectacular. My parents are away, and so I might just end up going to church to listen to the Christmas Oratorio – it's a specific event on Christmas Eve, actually – and spend the holidays at home. I've done that before, so it's not like I don't know what to do with myself."

He tried not to sound too disappointed, but Camille sensed that he wasn't all that happy. She didn't probe any deeper, though. It seemed pointless to dwell on it – it would only make him sad.

So, she changed the subject and asked "Where are we going next? I have to say that I'm really enjoying this little trip – I haven't seen much of the UK yet. In the summer, I have been to France and explored parts of Normandy and Brittany, and since I moved to London, I have mostly just been to various parts of the city – I haven't had the chance to see much else. Hopefully, I'll get to see a bit more over the next months. I'll have another break over Easter, as well as the bank holiday weekends, so that should give me the opportunity to get out and about a little more. Although it can be fairly costly, so I'll have to see about that…"

Richard shoved his disappointment about the Christmas issue to the side and said "I'm sure my parents would be happy to have you staying with them for a weekend. As I've mentioned, they live in Gloucestershire now, and…" – he went on to describe their house, the surroundings and the sites of interest in the area. Camille was interested to hear how Richard's parents had rebuilt their life after the crisis they had gone through. It seemed that they had really turned things around, and Richard's father had understood that his wife had been unhappy with what their life had become over the years.

"Sounds like they are happier now than they'd been in a while," she remarked. Richard nodded. Generally, he didn't feel comfortable discussing his parents, but with Camille it was different as she had met them and knew that things had been touch and go between them.

On the way back on the train, Richard felt how Camille slipped her hand into his, but he didn't say anything, he just squeezed her hand and stroked it with his thumb. It felt good – warm, reassuring… He marvelled at how easy everything seemed to be with Camille. She was here with him, but at the same time, she gave him the space he needed, and he appreciated that.

When they got off, Camille yawned and said "I'm hungry now. I could eat an entire pig! Or two…"

Hesitantly, Richard said "Well, I don't have a pig for you, but we could go to my place and cook dinner together. I have a pumpkin in my pantry that I had planned to turn into a soup, so if that's good enough for you…"

* * *

When Camille stretched out in her bed at around 11 p.m., she couldn't help but smile at the memory of how this day had gone… Richard was great company when he forgot to nag, and they had had so much fun together!

After they had returned from their lovely little excursion, they had gone to Richard's house and made pumpkin cream soup together. Neither of them had ever made that kind of soup, and while Camille had wanted to tackle the whole thing on an impulse and improvise something, Richard had objected, so eventually – as a compromise - they had looked up recipes on the net, and after having checked Richard's slightly meagre supply of spices, they had decided for one that sounded fairly uncomplicated. It had been fun to cook together, and despite a few almost-mishaps on the way, the finished result had been good.

There had been no embarrassment or self-consciousness between them tonight, everything had just come naturally, and they had both enjoyed each other's company. He had touched her a couple of times, and at one point he had lifted her hand to his cheek to hold it there for a moment… a slight tension had been in the air, and for a second, she had thought he'd maybe put his arms around her – but he hadn't. She had realised that he was afraid they'd get carried away, and he had a point…

When she had left, though, and they had stood in the small vestibule of his house, he hadn't held back – he had locked her in his arms, and they had finally kissed… She had felt his hands sliding over her back, one had then moved to caress her side, and he had surreptitiously fondled her breast for a moment. Obviously, he had felt that he could do that now without having to fear that she'd smack him, but he still hadn't dared being too straightforward. She had pressed herself against him; stroking his shoulders with one of her hands, resting the other in his hair, cupping his head, and she had felt the longing… and she had clearly known that she wouldn't be able to ignore it for much longer.

More than once over the past weeks, she had lay in her bed, thinking of him, remembering the feeling of his lips on hers, his hands on her breasts and his body pressed against hers… and she had felt that she was more than ready to take their relationship to a new level. And as it was, she had felt that he was ready, at least from a physical point of view, too… he had pulled away from her quite abruptly before she had left his house today, but she had noticed his body's reaction already…

Well, not long until her Christmas break started… and then they wouldn't have to restrain themselves any more…


	12. Holiday Preparations

Chapter 12 – Holiday Preparations

Despite having to deal with a few stressful cases, everyone at the station got more and more into the holiday spirit, and the team – as a whole - had turned to going to the pub twice during a week. Camille usually just stuck to one drink – she didn't want to splurge and spend too much money on what she called 'entertainment'. When she had moved to London, she hadn't realised that this factor might seriously put a strain on her budget. It hadn't been an issue during the time at the training centre, and she knew that when the next module started, she'd spend more of her evenings at home again, going through notes and studying, but the time at the station had brought her more expenses than anticipated.

She was looking forward to her forthcoming stay in France now – she had made a reservation for Christmas Eve as flights then were surprisingly cheap and not overly hard to book – she figured it was because most people tried to get out already the weekend before. Christmas Day fell on a Wednesday this year, so many people who wanted to go abroad tried to get flights or train tickets for Saturday or Sunday already.

However, Camille was a bit worried because of her friends' current circumstances. She was wondering if she was imposing herself on Alain and Isabelle who had lots of worries because of Alain's father who had been in hospital since late November. Things weren't looking great, and Camille didn't want to add to their stress. Nevertheless, Alain and Isabelle had insisted on her coming over, so she had made her reservations. Just in case there'd be problems, she had insurance via her credit card – if she had to step back from the flight, she'd get a certain percentage of the ticket price reimbursed. Since the flight wasn't overly expensive – she had chosen one of the budget airlines - she wasn't too worried – she had put money aside for that in time – but she was not happy being in limbo like this.

She hadn't mentioned any of that to Richard, though, because she didn't want him to feel 'obliged' to spend the holidays with her – she had not forgotten that they had promised one another to take it slowly, and she didn't want to come across as needy and convey a sense of entitlement. That seemed wrong to her. She knew there was something illogical and warped about how she looked at their relationship at this point – she wanted to be with him, but at the same time, she didn't want him to feel forced into a corner.

Actually, she was a little confused with the whole situation and their respective rôles. No matter how much she enjoyed this slow paced courting - sometimes she felt impatient and said to herself that he'd stop being so passive eventually… Of course, she didn't want him to feel overwhelmed and manipulated – it rather was that she felt he'd have to make a move at her, too. It wasn't enough that he just let things happen – he'd have to play a more active rôle in this!

Then again, however, she was well aware of his inability to figure out how to act at the moment – he knew that she wanted him, and he wanted her, too - but he was afraid of doing the wrong thing, and so he just made tiny little moves that she noticed, but found unsatisfactory. By the same token, she couldn't seriously blame him– he obviously didn't have much experience, and they had had their clashes in the past about all sorts of things, so although he had learnt to read her behaviour patterns somewhat better in the meantime, it was very clear that he was scared he'd mess up. It wasn't easy!

Her last day at the station approached… it was the Friday before Christmas. The day started early for Camille - she had got up earlier than usual and spent half of the morning in a doctor's waiting room. She had been feeling a little off lately, and also she needed to have something checked that she had wanted clarity about, and unfortunately, this had been the only available appointment – someone else had cancelled just before she had called the doctor's surgery, so it had been a bit of a lucky strike that she had got an appointment at all. She had misjudged the availabilty of appointments – at home in Saint Marie, you just went to the doctor's or the clinic's 'open surgery', but well, it was different here. To be honest, it was different in France, too, but she had completely forgotten about all the bureaucracy that came with the more urban infrastructure, the higher density of population and the different pace of life in general.

She definitely would have favoured going at another time, preferably the first day of her Christmas break – then she wouldn't miss part of work, but the doctor's receptionist had been firm – they didn't have any other free time slot for her.

The only other option would have been an appointment in the new year - she had wanted it out of the way before Christmas, though, so she had accepted the appointment and then checked with DI Fryer if she could come in a little later, and he had just shrugged and said amicably "It's your last day, anyway, and by then the report will be written, so I don't see any issue with you coming in a little later. You've always done good work and stayed on to do overtime regularly, so I know you're not a shirker, and if it's of any importance to you – it will be mentioned it in the report that you've always been there to put in extra hours, so don't worry…"

It was good to know that all the work she had put in was appreciated. Of course, she knew that interns had to show willingness to do extra hours, but that didn't mean it would necessarily also get acknowledged by supervisors in reports.

Camille was shattered when she finally arrived at the station. All that waiting at the doctor's had worn her out. She had hoped they could give her a narrowed time window upon her arrival so she could go home again for a little while before re-appearing and seeing the doctor, but no such luck… So she had spent several hours among sniffling and coughing people in the waiting room – not exactly something she really had enjoyed. It had been a relief when she had finally been called and could proceed to see the doctor. Much to her satisfaction, she had obtained all the information she had wanted, and the check-up she had asked for had gone smoothly as well. It was good to have this all out of the way so she could enjoy her Christmas break without having to worry about health issues…

She hadn't mentioned the whole thing to Richard – she hadn't wanted him to worry. She knew that he wouldn't have asked her any questions – that wasn't his style – but he would have been concerned, and really, why bother when there was no reason for him to be alarmed… Since he had been in a meeting with his counterpart from Holloway from nine in the morning until noon, in order to get some of their joint projects on the way, he hadn't noticed her absence, anyway…

In the afternoon, she and Stephen received their reports. DI Fryer had written raving testimonials for both of them, and Superintendent Morris had countersigned them and handed them their copies during a personal conversation. Of course, the originals would go into their dossiers, but it was nice to hold some evidence of how good one's work had been over the past weeks. Stephen and she had both enjoyed working in Islington, and Superintendent Morris had been very satisfied with their work, so everyone was happy.

They all went to the pub together once more, and since several team members would go on leave over the holidays, the atmosphere was relaxed and easy. Richard didn't stay very long as he had plans for the weekend and would have to be up fairly early on Saturday, but he congratulated Stephen and Camille, wished them success for their course and even had a drink with them. After he had left, the rest of the team stayed on, and Camille had to fend off several 'advances' from male team members. Now that she'd leave the station, they felt encouraged to make a pass at her… she wasn't taboo any more.

She was charming but firm in her rejections, but it made her slightly uncomfortable, nonetheless… so she was relieved when she could finally leave for good. She had reacted in a non-committal way to all attempts to ask her out. Secretly, she wondered if they realised how silly they were…

Camille knew that Richard would call her once he'd be back from his weekend trip, but still – she would have wished they'd have a chance to celebrate more properly and spend quality time together. She had seen Richard on weekends regularly over the past few weeks – they had gone sightseeing and for walks, and once he had taken her to a stately home. Winter wasn't the ideal time for sightseeing, but they had made the most of it so far.

As it was, both of them were a little frustrated with their current situation, but neither of them came forward and mentioned it. They hadn't spent any time at Richard's or Camille's place any more after their cooking experiment – somehow, they both felt safer in public places and hence had agreed tacitly not to visit each other at their respective homes. It wasn't that they didn't want to be alone together – actually, the problem was that they both wanted it too much, and they knew instinctively that they wouldn't be able to stick to their original plan of taking it slowly and not overstepping the line they had drawn. Neither of them wanted to admit it, though, and so they both suffered in silence.

The weekend before Christmas was a little lonely for Camille. Richard had gone to visit his parents as they would leave for their cruise on Monday, and he had wanted to see them before their departure. So, Camille was left to her own devices. She didn't feel like swimming, but forced herself to going for a long walk – only to realise that it wasn't half as much fun without Richard by her side.

She got organised for her forthcoming trip, though – she wrapped the little gifts that she had got for Alain and Isabelle, folded the clothes she wanted to take with her and stacked them on the sofa and checked her to-do list to see what else was on the agenda before she left on Tuesday afternoon. A little wistfully, she looked at the beautiful orchid that was blossoming on her window sill… she hoped it would survive her absence. She had never had a green thumb, and she was quite proud of herself that she hadn't killed the plant by now. The cactus was going strong, too, so that was nice…

Well, she and Richard could celebrate the end of her internship on Monday evening - she'd see him one more time before the holidays – he had asked her if she wanted to have dinner with him and booked a table in a restaurant. It would be their first _real_ date, she figured – if you wanted to define it that way. They wouldn't have to hide any more then. She also hoped they'd spend New Year's Eve together – and she was determined to make the most of it. She wasn't interested in spending New Year's Eve with a bunch of strangers… she wanted to have her own private fireworks with him…

Her flight back to London would be on the 30th, so she would only be in France for five days all in all. As much as she was looking forward to seeing Alain and Isabelle… she was also sad that she and Richard couldn't spend Christmas together…

* * *

Richard heaved a big sigh of relief when he plopped on his seat on the train. His parents had taken him to Birmingham to catch the train there – that was more convenient for him as he could get a direct connection. They had had lunch together in Birmingham before they had taken him to the station.

It had been nice to see his parents, but also a bit daunting. His mother had clucked over him and said several times how sad it was that he would have to spend Christmas on his own – how inconsequent of her, he thought. _She_ had been the one who'd said that he was old enough to spend the holidays alone, hadn't she! Eventually, his father had put his foot down and said that she shouldn't be ridiculous – that had done the trick, and she had stopped talking about this topic.

Then, however, she had started talking about their forthcoming trip and reciting all the places they would visit. Richard hadn't been all that interested in that, either. Eventually, his mother had noticed his reticence and turned to other – more general – topics.

The truth was that he didn't want to be reminded of having to spend the holidays all by himself. It was bad enough already, wasn't it. When he had heard about their cruise for the first time, he had shrugged it off as it really hadn't been that important to him, but now that he and Camille had become an 'item' – well, in a way, at least – it was different. He felt a little more vulnerable and unsettled, and being on his own for the holidays would give him too much time to think and agonise over… well, all sorts of things.

He knew that the point wasn't that he'd miss his parents – he just didn't want to be by himself, and spending the holidays with them would at least have distracted him.

He really felt that he and Camille should be together for Christmas. But well, it wasn't meant to be. They'd get together for a meal on the evening before Christmas Eve, and they'd have New Year's Eve, and he was looking forward to both…

He was debating with himself over whether he should give her the gift he had got for her _before_ or _after_ Christmas and decided he'd take it with him and play it by ear. He hadn't forgotten how she had admired his cashmere cardigan, and he had seen how she had kept looking at cashmere shawls at the shops when they had gone sightseeing… and he knew that she couldn't afford buying one at this point, so he had got one for her. It was a pattern he wouldn't have chosen for himself, but it would suit her perfectly – it was checked, multi-coloured in dark green, red and a warm orange-yellow – and it resembled the colour pattern of mangos. He hoped she'd like it. It was warm, light, soft and cuddly. It had been fairly expensive – more so than the ones she had looked at - but it was excellent quality, and even if she returned to the Caribbean, she could always use it as a decorative rug for her couch then as it was rather large.

He tried not to think of that possibility… he didn't want to lose her once again. They had just acknowledged their feelings for one another, and it was getting increasingly difficult to resist. From what she had said, she didn't look at this as a temporary thing, but then again – did she want to stay in the UK?

Or did she think that he could be convinced to move back to the Caribbean?

He had suffered quite a bit over there – he hadn't exaggerated when he had said to her that he hadn't been physically well over there a lot of the time… Of course, his choice of attire and the somewhat unfavourable living conditions had been part of the problem, he knew that, but even with air conditioning and lighter clothing, he wasn't _entirely_ sure if he could live in that part of the world on a permanent basis. Not to mention that he wasn't sure about the job situation – they'd have to live somehow, wouldn't they…

He remembered that she had hesitated when Constable Collins had asked her about a possible return. Obviously, she hadn't been so sure if she wanted to return at all – at least that had been his impression… but maybe it had only been wishful thinking? But of course, she had known that there was no job guarantee for her when she had left Saint Marie; that might mean that she didn't care, anyway?

By the time he had reached London he had pondered and dis-sected the situation several times, and still he hadn't really come to a definite conclusion. The factor 'C' for Camille was just too unpredictable - or too capricious… or too complicated… if you wanted to stick to the 'C'…

* * *

Their dinner 'date' wasn't anything posh or fancy – Richard had reserved a table in a small restaurant in Stanmore, not too far from Camille's place. For a moment he had considered a more upscale restaurant in the city, but that would have meant she would have had to come into the city and each of them would have had a long way home afterwards – that didn't seem sensible. Also, the posh places all were over-booked, anyway – and the 'medium posh' ones, too. Plus, there were Christmas parties all over the place… it certainly would be less crowded in Stanmore.

So, he went home after work, got changed and took the bus to Stanmore - and they met up in the restaurant. It was a fairly unspectacular place, but cosy, nonetheless, plus the staff was nice, the food was good, and with the Christmas decorations everywhere, it certainly looked glamorous and festive.

They had a quiet meal together and talked a little about the last weekend. They both weren't exactly talkative – a certain melancholy was hovering over their heads. Still, it was nice to spend time together, and Camille was happy that she had a chance to see Richard before her departure.

As they were waiting for dessert to be served, Camille cleared her throat and said with a smile "Well, since I won't see you any more before the holidays, I think it's time to give you your Christmas present…"

With that, she rummaged around in her bag and took out a rectangular packet, wrapped in nice shiny white gift paper, decorated with red and green stars. Richard was a little embarrassed when the waiter showed up to bring them their blueberry pancakes with vanilla ice cream and gave them a curious look, but then again, why would he care…

He retrieved the gift bag that he had hidden in a regular plastic bag and handed it to her, saying "I've got something for you, too… I hope you'll like it. Since you kept looking at that sort of thing, I figured you might perhaps enjoy having something like this…"

Camille peeked into the gift bag – but he had not only put the shawl into the bag, he had wrapped it as well, so she took out the packet and began to fumble on the bow and the ribbon. She was curious – it was soft, and light, and fairly big… what could it be? Richard enjoyed watching her – she was like a child in her curiosity and enthusiasm… But then she stopped and said "Aren't you curious about _your_ gift? I hope I've found the right thing for you – please, go ahead and unwrap it… I'll wait until you're done before I'll continue with mine…"

When Richard saw the book about Roman history that Camille had chosen for him, he was genuinely touched – he had seen it in a book store on the weekend when they had been sightseeing together, and he had commented on how much he'd like to have it, but that he might wait for it to come out as a paperback before getting it. It was by a well-known author who was famous for doing excellent research. On top of that, she had added a particularly pretty brass bookmark – it was a stylised miniature tree. He had admired that in the book store and said that it was 'nice work', and obviously she had taken advantage of him being distracted by a book about astronomy to pick and buy it, along with the book and a little box of flower-shaped paperclips. She had shown him the paperclips afterwards when he had asked what she had bought, remarking that they reminded her of Saint Marie - but he hadn't known about the book – or the bookmark.

She saw his eyes lighting up and knew that he liked his gift. He took her hand and squeezed it lightly, saying "Thank you so much – you know very well how much I wanted to have this book, but I couldn't make up my mind and buy it when I saw it. It's a lovely gift, and I look forward to reading it. And the bookmark is perfect. I'll be thinking of you when I use it!"

"You better do that," she said with a cheeky smile. He released her hand so she could continue fiddling with the big red bow on her package. "Really, Richard – did you have to fix it with a double knot?" she sighed reproachfully. He couldn't help but grin. With a slightly gleeful undertone he asked "Well, isn't unwrapping part of the fun?"

She rolled his eyes at him. Finally, the bow was opened, the ribbon was put to the side, and she slid her hand carefully between the layers of paper. She felt the soft material and looked up incredulously. Then the paper was discarded hastily, and she held the shawl in her hands. For a moment she just stared at it in disbelief, then she lifted it to her face, held it against her cheek and took in the scent, her fingertips caressed the material, and finally she looked up, pure joy in her eyes, and said softly "Oh, thank you, Richard – this is amazing!" She almost jumped up to come around and kiss him, but then she realised that they were in a restaurant, so showing her full excitement would have to wait.

She opened out the shawl to admire it, and now she could see all the colours – and she loved it even more. It didn't only feel smooth and soft, it also looked beautiful. She put it around her shoulders and said with awe in her voice "This is perfect… I'm almost ashamed now that I only got a book for you – but…"

He interrupted her by shaking his head and saying warmly, though slightly awkwardly "Don't say that. I love what you got for me, and it's not about who came up with the most expensive gift. It's the thought behind it – and I can see that you did think about what I might like. So, don't say that it's not good enough. It is. More than that. And now let's get on with the pancakes before they're completely cold…"

He was relieved that his gift obviously was a winner – she kept stroking the material with her fingers, pure delight on her face. He was fascinated with how her hands grazed the shawl and imagined for a moment what it would be like if she touched him like this… but as soon as he noticed where his thoughts were heading, he forced himself to focus on his dessert…

When they had left the restaurant and stood on the pavement, next to a tree that had no leaves any more, indecisive and not quite sure what to say or do now, she finally came up with a hesitant "So, I guess I'll go home now… Thank you for the lovely evening, Richard, and… happy holidays!"

She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek, lightly, but then she found that she couldn't resist – she moved to his lips, and a second later, she felt how he put his arms around her and pulled her closer, kissing her warmly and with much feeling. She responded instantly, and for a little while they forgot that they were standing in the middle of Stanmore, in front of a restaurant, within full visibility of everyone who might be interested to watch. Not that there were many people around – the street was quiet, an elderly woman walking her dog briefly looked over to them before she turned a corner, and that was it. The restaurant staff all were too busy, and the guests were pre-occupied with their own affairs, so nobody witnessed their passionate kiss.

"Happy holidays, and have a safe trip…" he whispered when he could speak again. His voice was husky with tenderness and a hardly hidden longing.

Camille bit her lip and then replied softly "Happy holidays, Richard. I can't wait… I can't wait to see in the New Year with you… I must… I must go now, though…"

He nodded and let his arms reluctantly slide down her sides so she could pull away.

She gave him a last smile, and then he watched her as she went away, turning around once more to wave him goodbye – and then she was gone.

His shoulders sagged. He sighed, turned around and went to the bus stop, trying to come to terms with the fact that he'd spend yet another lonely Christmas all by himself…

* * *

On Tuesday morning, Camille woke up with the feeling that it was a special day. She saw her suitcase in one corner, her handbag placed on top of it… What was all that about?

Then she remembered… Oh yes, it was Christmas Eve, and she'd go to France in the afternoon! She'd get together with Alain and Isabelle, and they'd spend five days together, chatting, going out, meeting other friends, cooking together – it would be fun.

As she got ready and had breakfast, she realised that something was different. It was very, very quiet outside. She pulled up the blinds and saw that it was extremely foggy. She had experienced fog in the UK before – there had been some days this autumn when you could barely see your hand in front of your face, but this… this was more than that. This was impenetrable, opaque, devious fog… And it was cold as she noticed when she opened her window – the air was freezing… So, it surely was slippery outside as well! How was she supposed to get to the airport under those conditions?

Then another thought crossed her mind… maybe her flight wouldn't happen after all? She was supposed to be at the airport around noon, and now it was 9 a.m. She'd have to leave in half an hour if she wanted to be there in time… She checked her phone, and sure enough, there was a text message that fog and the general weather conditions were obstructing the traffic on the airport, and flights were postponed and cancelled. There was a note that she should consult her air line's website or contact them directly… She checked the website, and indeed, her flight was among those that would be postponed or maybe even cancelled.

A note mentioned that flights scheduled for the afternoon would partly get postponed to the next day if the weather didn't clear up and that – if their flight was on the respective list - customers could change their bookings to another date within six months if the rescheduling interfered with their plans.

She knew that this was unusual service – most airlines – let alone the cheap ones – had the habit of staving off their customers and would try anything to get their air crafts filled to the brim. But maybe they made an exception because it was Christmas and they knew that those who had booked for the day before Christmas didn't want to spend the holidays on an airport. It was different if you just went for a city trip and could go a day later without any trouble, but for a holiday trip, being late like this would be a bummer, and most people would prefer staying home to sitting around on the airport waiting for a flight that might or might not happen. She also reckoned that even if her flight just got postponed and not entirely called off – she might not arrive in Paris before the wee hours of the next morning. And then she'd have only four days with Isabelle and Alain, everything would be hectic, they'd have to pick her up in the middle of the night… it sounded disastrous.

There was a link to the list of the rescheduled flights – and sure enough, there was hers, on top of the list.

She sat there in front of her laptop for a few moments, idly twisting a strand of her hair and trying to come to a decision. Maybe, this was a sign… or was she interpreting too much into this?

Whatever… she drew in a deep breath and picked up her phone…


	13. Christmas Surprises

Chapter 13 – Christmas Surprises

At around 5.30 p.m. on Christmas Eve, Richard unlocked the door to his house. He had just returned from the Christmas Oratorio that had been performed in a nearby church. It had taken up most of his afternoon – they had started at around 3.30, and in order to get a fairly good seat, he had left his house at 2.30. There'd be another performance on Christmas Day, but since he didn't have to work today, he figured he'd rather go to the less crowded event. It had been excellent, and it had given him something to do…

Of course that meant he'd be all by himself over the entire holidays… no distraction on Christmas Day or on Boxing Day. He was used to being by himself, but still… this year, it seemed harder than during previous years. The oratorio had also left him a little subdued – the music was splendid, and there was something sublime and grand about it… but while he had enjoyed the event, he had also felt sad that he hadn't had anybody to share it with.

He turned around before going in and looked up to the sky for a moment – it was still fairly foggy. The damp air seemed to cover everything like a blanket, it was entirely quiet around him, and he felt very alone. For a moment he remembered the lines in Alan Sillitoe's book "The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner" – where the main character reflected about feeling either like the first or the last person on earth – and that (if given the choice) he'd prefer being the first.

He was thankful that his parents had departed the day before – the weather had been okay then – and he hoped that Camille had landed safely in Paris. Maybe she'd text him? In any case, she had promised to phone him upon her return in five days so they could make arrangements for New Year's Eve…

Five long days… He really didn't know what was the matter with him – was he getting mawkish and sentimental? Christmas wasn't so special after all, was it…

"Bah, humbug…" he muttered as he finally entered his house.

It was too early for dinner, so he decided to get out of his suit and change into something more comfortable before making himself some tea and getting settled on the sofa with the book on Roman history that Camille had given him for Christmas. He usually avoided watching TV over the holidays as he wasn't keen on seeing the 100th rerun of shows he had already seen as a child – they were getting a bit boring now – or equally old soppy tearjerkers.

When he sat down, put on his reading glasses and opened the book, Camille's card fell out… it was a very small note, and he had only found it after he had leafed through the book at home… A little bunny wearing a Santa hat was sitting in the snow, and the writing underneath said _'Hoppy Holidays'_ – now, that was just so typical of Camille…

Inside, she had written "Wishing you merry Christmas & a happy New Year, Richard – looking forward to sharing it with you! – All my love, Camille"

 _Love_ … they hadn't spoken about that yet. Although they had said they wanted to be together, love had never been mentioned. She had talked about her 'feelings' for him and that she wanted them to be together, and he had confirmed that he wanted the same… without really talking about _his_ feelings, though. He _had_ feelings, after all – although he sometimes tried to ignore them, and although some people might think otherwise, anyway. He hadn't said that he had missed her, but he figured she knew. They had shared these breathtaking moments when he had visited her for dinner, and they had kissed a few times since then…

Each time it had become harder for him to let go, each time he had felt more disappointed that there wasn't more, each time he had wanted to hold her longer and tighter, feel more of her… lose himself in her…

It had been hard to stick to the plan and practice restraint – she was such a temptation, and his willpower had dwindled over the weeks. His nights had become restless, and although he had managed to focus at work, he had had to be careful not to pass her meaningful glances or betray his feelings in any other way. On the outside, he had seemed perfectly cool – he knew that he had mastered the art of pretending – but what was happening on the inside was a completely different story.

When she had been here to cook pumpkin cream soup with him, he had been on the verge of forgetting his principles… Fortunately, he had remembered them just in time. It wouldn't have been right to give in, but he was only human, and eventually, there would come a point when he wouldn't manage to ignore his desire any longer. It was difficult enough already…

And it wasn't only that.

He loved her company, he enjoyed their chats, and he admired her general attitude towards life… and there was so much more about her that he found remarkable and irresistible.

It confused him to feel so out of control, and he worried that he might feel too much – or at least more than he should, more than he (and she?) could cope with.

Was _that_ love? If it was… what would it be like to be together with her? Not so much on the physical level – more on the emotional level. Or was he brooding too much, seeing problems everywhere when things were perfectly easy? Well, nothing was ever easy for him…

They had promised each other to take it slowly, and they had certainly not rushed things so far. However, he was scared that it would all end up in disappointment, anyway… Maybe he was doomed to be alone for his entire life? He hadn't made stellar experiences with women in his life, and although he had learnt to be generally a bit more flexible over the past years, he still sometimes was worried that the sky would fall down on him if he wasn't careful enough. Not a very sexy character trait… Could she live with that at all, or would it drive her insane?

He admitted to himself that he wanted much, much more than just moments of pleasure and the fleeting feeling of 'belonging' – not only in regard to the physical side (that was something that _still_ worried him a little, but he was more confident now that he'd manage somehow… she had been patient and understanding and given him personal space, so there was hope that things would fall into place once they'd come to that point…), but also in other respects. He had often wished for a life companion, but it had just seemed so unrealistic that he had never really believed it could come true. Now, however, it seemed almost within reach… but was he perhaps expecting too much of her? Or of himself?

What was it all about?

He sighed. He wished he knew more about all these things – he basically had always been only a spectator in that field… If the chance came up – would he be able to talk about his emotions at all? He wasn't used to discussing his feelings, and she had a way of looking at him that made him feel like he was worrying for nothing – yet his worries were there, they were _real_ for him, they had to be taken into consideration…

Or was he mistaken here? Was he over-interpreting everything? Was he making a mountain out of a molehill? Other people had relationships, too – how did they do it? Catherine had said there was romance in everybody's heart, even in his, and yes, she had a point. But no matter how romantic he might be deep down – would that be enough? He knew only too well that he clammed up quickly and that he'd never be gregarious and lively… Wouldn't Camille get fed up with him? Wouldn't she feel that he was too serious? Wouldn't she think that she had 'idolised' him after his departure from Saint Marie – absence makes the heart grow fonder, and memories are golden, and all this… - and run off again when she found out that he was indeed very set in his ways and maybe hard to live with? Wasn't it mainly the fact that he was a familiar face in a world of strangers for her that kept her interested?

He wanted to believe in this budding relationship, he wanted to believe in love. But it was so hard to be optimistic when you felt lonely and worried…

If only she were here with him now…

He sniffled a little and despised himself for being such a wimp. Really, he should be happy for having her in his life at all instead of whining and wallowing in self-pity because she wasn't here with him at the moment. She'd be back for New Year's Eve, after all, and then they could finally spend more quality time together.

And with a little bit of luck, the foil-wrapped devices sitting in a little cardboard box in his nightstand's drawer would be put to a good use.

He had purchased them in a rash of optimism and determination over the weekend – he had been grocery shopping with his parents, and while they had tried to decide if they wanted to try another – cheaper – toothpaste, he had idled away the time in the flanking aisles… and his gaze had fallen onto this particular range of products. He had been dead embarrassed when a young shop assistant had passed him, giving him a curious sideways glance, but heroically, he had taken one of the boxes and hid it in his hand. After having approached his mother – who was still discussing the toothpaste with his father - with an ostensibly casual "Mind, Mother, I'll wait outside", he had scurried away to the check-out… and much to his relief the cashier had just shoved the item over the scanner with a phlegmatic gesture and announced the amount due in a decidedly indifferent manner. He had paid and slipped the box into the pocket of his coat, trying to appear cool and unruffled.

Would he ever muster up the courage to put his purchase into action? What if it never happened? What if she decided she had made a mistake and didn't want him any more? She had said they'd get there eventually, but what if they didn't? And how would he know when the right moment had come?

He was still looking at her handwriting when he heard the doorbell ring. Now, that was weird – who would come to visit him at this time? Should he ignore the bell altogether? But then again, that would be rude…

Maybe the neighbour wanted to bring cookies? He sometimes fed her cat – although he wasn't too keen on King George (he wondered why she had given him that name… however, he had called 'his' lizard Harry, and that had surely seemed rather pointless to others as well) or took out the bins for her when she was on holidays – so maybe she felt that bringing him Christmas cookies were a good way to pay back his kindness? She made _good_ cookies, so perhaps he should get up and answer the door. And at least he'd exchange a few words with _someone_ and wouldn't go to bed without having spoken to anyone today.

He took off his glasses, got up and padded to the vestibule – he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and sighed… a morose looking, tired, middle aged man, with thinning hair, wearing grey socks, jeans and a dark grey sweatshirt… how exciting!

Oh well. Why would Ms Fletcher from next door care? She had seen him in his running gear already, and that surely wasn't too flattering, either…

The bell rang again, insistently now, and he muttered "Hold on, I'm coming…"

He opened the door with a yank – and turned into a pillar of salt.

It was _Camille_ … standing there with her head tilted to one side, a smile on her face, and saying "Ho-ho-ho – and merry Christmas, Richard – do you have a little space in your house for a lost elf?"

* * *

Camille almost wanted to laugh out loud at the expression on his face. If she had ever seen someone being totally, completely and utterly speechless and gobsmacked, then it was Richard now, in this moment.

He stared at her as if she was a phantasmagoria, a mirage… Finally, he cleared his throat and uttered feebly "You're not in Paris?"

"I'm not – unless this is a science fiction story and we're in parallel universes or something like that," she responded, amusement in her voice.

"But…" He just didn't seem to be able to say anything coherent, and Camille arched her eyebrows and asked amicably "Will you let me in, Richard, or do you want me to get cold feet and freeze off my bum?"

He stepped to the side and let her pass, incredulously looking at her and her little suitcase and then gently closing the door behind her. As she stood there in the dim light of his vestibule, slowly getting rid of her coat, he suddenly seemed to wake up again from his daze, moving to take the garment from her and put it on a hanger, along with the cashmere shawl she had been wearing with the coat. He watched her as she also removed her shoes and placed them neatly next to his. Then, she ran a hand through her hair to smooth it a little and turned around to face him, a smile curving her lips.

It was then when he finally realised she was really, truly here, she was not a figment of his imagination, a fata morgana that had appeared as a result of his wishful thinking. She had come to rescue him from his loneliness… and he wouldn't let her go any more. And he knew that she wouldn't have come if she hadn't wanted to be with him, too.

He took her hands and pulled her close, whispering "How – I mean, what… I had thought… I had thought you'd left earlier today?"

She shook her head and said "Obviously not…" Before she could clarify, though, he had put his arms around her, enfolding her in a warm embrace and holding her tight… and in the next second, she felt his lips on hers, gentle and almost shy at first… but he got bolder quickly, and a few more moments later, she felt his tongue teasing her lips open, exploring and caressing the inside of her mouth…

Suddenly, she felt him pushing her against the bare wall next to the coat rack, and she inhaled sharply. He obviously needed no further encouragement, instructions or assistance tonight… She felt that he was very determined not to let her go again, and since she was determined to stay with him, they were clearly on the same page…

If she had perhaps thought initially that his way of greeting her had left a bit to be desired, she couldn't complain about a lack of enthusiasm any more now.

His hands came under her pullover, then she felt them on her skin, with a quick and unexpectedly deft movement, he unclasped her bra, and one of his hands cupped a breast, impatiently he began kneading it, feeling her nipple hardening under his touch. Instantly, she responded and pressed herself firmly against him, her hands slipped under his sweatshirt, pulled out his T-shirt, roamed over his back, slowly moving downwards.

Her fingers moved beneath the waistline of his jeans, trying to get in so she could feel more of his bare skin. Her body ached for him, a familiar heat started to pool in her nether regions, and she felt that he was aroused, too. He didn't pull away this time… His free hand moved to her bottom, and she felt him pressing her fiercely against his body. She was melting into his embrace, and she planted her splayed hands determinedly on the small of his back, pulling him even closer so she could feel him better. His body reacted instinctively to her presence – and she noticed with delight just _how much_ he wanted her.

Richard had never felt before so _urgently_ that he wanted – needed - to be close to someone – he wanted to feel her smooth skin under his hands, he wanted to hear her breathing his name, he wanted to know what it was like to be one with her… and the way she pressed herself against him and responded to his actions indicated that she wanted him, too, so… maybe… maybe…

Yes. It was clear as crystal, and there was no doubt about it.

Less than half an hour ago he had wondered how he would know when the right moment had come.

He didn't have to wonder any more: He _knew_ it was _now_.

Their breathing was ragged when they broke apart for air, and when Camille looked into his shining eyes, she seemed to fall into a bottomless green lake – before she could say something, though, his lips were on her face again, tenderly moving to her cheekbone, and then he whispered something into her ear… What was that?

"Come upstairs with me… to my bedroom… _please_ … we can… let me…"

His voice was shaky, husky and a little anxious, and he spoke incoherently, but he sounded sincere and very determined at the same time…

Oh wow… this was progressing nicely… and at a _much_ faster pace than she had ever dared to hope for. She heard herself gasping under the touch of his hands, and with a voice she hardly recognised as her own, she responded "Yes, Richard, yes… _oh yes_ …"

There wasn't time for thinking or wondering how it would go. For a while, it had been a question of 'if', then a question of 'when' – now there were no questions left any more. She wanted it to happen now… She had wanted him for so long, and the kisses and occasional more or less 'chaste' caresses that they had shared over the past weeks since he had come to her flat for their housewarming dinner had only fuelled her desire and made her more eager to finally 'get to the point'. It felt good to know that he wanted her, too… that he – who always appeared to be so cool and composed - couldn't hold back any more, either…

Without letting go of one another, they moved further into the hallway, and while their hands kept exploring and caressing, they reached the bottom of the staircase - with some pushing, shoving and shuffling. Richard tried to tear himself away from her lips, but her hand cupped the back of his head, and actually, he didn't want to stop kissing her…

But how would they ever get to his bedroom?

Fortunately, it wasn't a particularly long staircase – somehow they moved upstairs, stumbling, tumbling… and fumbling. Camille's pullover got discarded along with his sweatshirt when they reached the small landing, and before they had come to the end of the stairs, his T-shirt, her camisole and the lacy bra had followed, and Camille came closer and let her hands roam over his bare chest and his stomach before pressing herself against him once more. Richard gasped when he felt her breasts rubbing over his torso and then her fingers fiddling at the clasp of his belt – she didn't get far there, though, as he grabbed her hand to stop her and urged her to move and hurry up so they'd have a chance to finally make it to the bedroom.

Camille was a step ahead of him, but then she turned around to touch him again, and Richard found himself facing her beautiful firm breasts – small, but perfect. They were there, right in front of his eyes… waiting for him to touch them. That was too much for him - without thinking, he buried his face between them, touching and caressing her, placing hungry open mouthed kisses on the soft skin of her cleavage. Suddenly he felt her hands in his hair, steering his mouth towards one of her swelling nipples, and instinctively, he let his tongue flick over it, hearing her moan and draw in a hissing breath as he licked and sucked, wanting to taste more of her. One of his hands fondled her other breast while the free hand now moved over her taut abdomen… to her belt, trying to open it, but to no avail…

He - just – could – not - focus…

There – the clasp gave way… feverishly, he flipped the top button of her trousers open, the zipper gave in, and his fingers slipped inside, moved down boldly and found their way to her slick centre… Ah… this felt good…

Obviously, Camille felt the same way… She was still for a moment, then slightly altered her stance and rolled her hips against his hand with a loud moan, and Richard felt he might die here and now… He wanted her so much… he couldn't wait any more… and it was clear that she felt the same way and was _very_ ready for him… but not here… not on the staircase!

So, he pulled his hand away, scooped her up impatiently, and carried her into his bedroom. In the twilight – the shutters were closed, but there was light from downstairs coming up – they fell on the bed, kissing each other passionately, then breaking for air, gasping, panting, whispering incoherent words…

It all went fairly quickly – and that was a good thing as Richard didn't have any chance to overthink or worry. Their clothes flew left and right, Camille deftly opened his jeans and resolutely tugged at the waistband of his boxers, helping him out of both of them, and without hesitation, Richard grabbed Camille's knickers, pulled them down and discarded them, so he could finally, finally make love to her…

Then it struck him, though – and much to Camille's dismay, he suddenly stopped his actions and desperately gasped out "Wait, wait – we must… protection…"

Camille didn't let him finish his incoherent plea, though – she panted "I've taken care… of that… don't you dare… and stop now…" and fiercely pulled him towards her, literally wrapping herself around him. He hesitated for a second, opened his mouth to say something in response… but it was forgotten the moment he felt Camille's greedy lips on his, her tongue entering his mouth, her hard nipples rubbing on his chest and her long, long legs winding around his hips…

With all the bottled up emotions, the passionate build-up and the long-suppressed fervour, there wasn't much time for preliminaries, finesse or subtlety. But neither of them felt 'run over', neglected or betrayed – they both wanted and needed release, the sooner the better - and when Camille felt Richard coming to her and then moving faster and faster, with more and more vigour, she adapted to his rhythm instinctively and did her utmost to reach her finish together with him.

It didn't take long to get there - she felt the welcome waves of release approaching… they were splashing over her, she bucked and moaned – before finally falling limp with an ecstatic long sigh - and from what seemed to be miles away, she heard several gasps and what sounded like a suppressed outcry – and then he lay still in her arms, burying his head in her neck, breathing heavily.

Gently, she stroked his neck, his shoulders, his back… and slowly, his breathing normalised again and he lifted his head, raising his eyes to hers. She saw the question in his gaze, and with a tender smile, she pulled him closer, bringing his forehead to hers and whispering softly "That was well worth the wait… wasn't it?"

He nodded and then said with a slightly hoarse voice "I'm sorry I didn't… I mean, it went way too fast… it was – smashing… for me… I hadn't wanted… but…"

"Sshhh," she made and shifted a little so she could kiss the corners of his lips. "No worries… You may not have noticed, but it was smashing for me, too. I wanted you, and I couldn't wait any longer… so, it's all good. Stop worrying! You know there's a million ways to do it, and we can take it more slowly next time… if we want to…"

Reassuringly, she raked her fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his face and leaning over to kiss him again. Then she asked softly "Aren't you getting cold?" – and they slipped under the duvet together, holding on to each other. After a few minutes, Camille felt Richard relaxing, his grip was loosening, and his steady and calm breath indicated that he had fallen asleep. She snuggled up to him, revelling in the feeling of his warm body against hers and the knowledge that she had done the right thing by not going to France, but coming here instead…

* * *

A couple of hours later, Richard woke up with a start. Confused, he realised that he was in bed – a glance at his alarm clock showed him that it was nearly nine o'clock. Why on earth was he in bed at this time? And stark naked on top of this? Good grief, it was winter, wasn't it! Why wasn't he wearing his pyjamas?

Then he heard light steps coming up the staircase, and a familiar female voice was humming a song that Richard identified as 'La vie en rose'…

Camille!

The door opened, and she came in, wearing the robe that he usually kept in the bathroom. Her curly hair looked slightly ruffled, but her eyes were shining, and she wore the most irresistible smile. She switched on the little lamp on the nightstand and sat down on the bed, holding out a small plate to him and bending over to kiss him on the cheek.

"Here, I brought you some gingerbread," she said. "It's almost Christmas, after all…"

He sat up, feeling a little sheepish, and tried – in vain - to smooth his hair. "So… so it wasn't some wild fantasy?" he asked shyly. Camille shook her head, a twinkle in her eyes, and replied "It was wild, but it wasn't a fantasy…" She laughed softly at his obvious embarrassment and moved to swing her long legs on the bed and under the duvet.

Richard moved to lie down, too, propped up on his elbow and asked "What are you doing here? I mean, weren't you going to Paris?"

She took a gingerbread heart, began to nibble on it and said "Yes, I was. But my flight was cancelled – due to the fog. Originally, it was only postponed, but then I called the airline, and they said it would most likely be cancelled. I could have got it rescheduled for tomorrow – or back out and get a voucher for a flight to Paris within the next six months. So, I didn't get my money back, but I can go to Paris in the spring, over Easter."

"But your friends? You were so much looking forward to seeing them…"

"I told you about Alain's father being in hospital, didn't I… well, he was released two days ago, so obviously he's on the mend. Although they had said they wanted me to spend the holidays with them, and I know that they meant it, I realised that they also wanted to spend time with Alain's parents and siblings - together as a family - and I felt I shouldn't intrude. So, I called them, told them about the issues with the flight and said I'd stay here and spend the holidays with a friend… I hope it doesn't sound vain, but I had a hunch that you wouldn't mind spending Christmas with me, and I honestly want to spend it with you – much more than with anyone else… Alain and Isabelle seemed relieved although they claimed to be inconsolable – and we agreed on getting together in the spring instead."

He had listened intently, and his hand had wandered over to grab hers and hold it. She smiled at him and explained "And then, after I had worked up the courage to do so, I called a taxi, left my flat and came here… hoping that you won't chuck me out first thing tomorrow morning…"

Seeing the look in his eyes, she took the plate with gingerbread away and put it on the nightstand. Then she slipped under the duvet, shuffled closer to him and let her hand slide over his arm and his side, to his hip. From there, her fingers roamed lightly over the soft skin of his stomach, and excitedly, she noticed his reaction. He moved closer and whispered "If you keep doing what you're doing at the moment, there's a fairly good chance I won't _ever_ want to chuck you out…"

He leant over her, and while his lips moved to her neck and her earlobe, she felt him tugging on the sash until the robe opened, letting his hand slip under the material and caressing her. His fingers moved over her breasts… to her stomach… and further down, and with a languorous sigh, she shifted a little so he could caress the silken skin of her inner thigh and move upwards from there.

Richard was fascinated by her open, uninhibited delight and abandon – it was entirely clear that she enjoyed his touch, and the way she writhed, the little sounds she made, the lustful sighs, the moans, the words she muttered (in French… he didn't understand all of them, but they sounded a little dirty and _very_ hot)… all that increased his own desire, and before too long, he couldn't hold back any more and moved to make love to her again.

He felt her arms around him, her lips and her hands on his face and his body, her long legs looped around his hips – and this time, they took it slowly – and their second time together was everything he had ever dreamed of – and more…


	14. Tell It Like It Is

Chapter 14 – Tell it like it is

The next two days were idyllic – and almost _too_ perfect... at least in some ways.

Camille felt that Richard was really making an effort, and she was touched to see all the little things he did for her. He made coffee for her, he got her a hot water bottle when her feet got cold, he didn't object when she looked out for French TV channels… and they spent quite a bit of time in bed, cuddling, feeling and exploring each other… It was wonderful to feel his hands and his lips caressing her, to hear him saying all those tender words she had longed to hear from him, to taste his lips and touch him… and to fall asleep next to him, knowing he'd still be there when she'd wake up.

There was just one thing that bugged her and made her a little restless…

Somehow, she had thought everything would be perfect once they'd reach this stage of their relationship. However, that hadn't happened. He was sweet, he was tender, he was passionate, and he was everything she could have wished for.

He just didn't seem to be ready to _talk_.

She realised that they would have to discuss where they would go from here, though – she knew that Richard had a hard time talking about his feelings, no matter how eloquent he was in other departments of life, but it was a fact that she would finish this course in less than a year, and then they would have to think about the future – at least if they wanted to stay together, and as far as she was concerned, that wasn't a question. She wanted this to be sorted… and soon.

But he just seemed to accept and acknowledge her presence – he did say that he had missed her, he did say that he was happy she had come to spend the holidays with him, and he did say that it was good to have her around, but whenever she tried to talk about the future, it was like a curtain fell and he lost himself in vague remarks about what could happen… he never seemed to make a plan. That puzzled her, and she didn't understand why he was so 'distant' – despite their physical closeness.

She figured it would be pointless to make a direct foray – he was like one of those spiky lizards in the Caribbean that you had to approach from the side.

So, on the evening of Boxing Day, after dinner, she decided to tackle the subject by saying casually "I wonder what the next module of my course will bring. And I wonder what station I will be assigned to afterwards."

Richard looked up from his magazine and said matter-of-factly "Well, it will not be Islington. They assign trainees to a different station each time, so we might get someone new – we usually have at least one trainee, sometimes more – as you have seen yourself. It can be a bit cumbersome for everyone as they just learn how things work in a particular station when their internship comes to a close again, but it's a good idea, nevertheless, as they aren't stuck in a place they might not like and get to know different ways of doing things. I noticed with Stephen that he was a bit stuck with how things were done at his home station – for lack of a better word – but adapted to Islington after a little while, and the more he sees, the more he will be able to think outside the box – which is useful for someone who wants to apply for being promoted to DI. It's not all about talent and personality – it's about gaining experiences and seeing things from different angles, too. That's why I actually think this course is a pretty good idea, but of course, not everybody sees it this way."

"Hm," made Camille. Then she said "So this is what you think about Stephen. What did you think about _me_? And do you think I will fit into the system over here, or am I stuck with the French-Caribbean way of looking at things?"

Richard took off his reading glasses (that Camille found unbelievably sexy on him, to tell the truth) and replied "Well, considering that I moved heaven and earth to get us out of the supervisor / trainee relationship and hence officially don't really have anything to say when it comes to your performance, I'm giving you my entirely private opinion now… You are quick to adapt, and you get a feeling for the atmosphere at a place quickly – and then act accordingly. You have always been – and still are - a resourceful, intuitive officer, and your talents definitely lie in the interpersonal department. You're great when it comes to interrogating people. Very skilled. Visceral sometimes, but you know what you're doing. Procedure is not your strongest side, although you have made great progress. I'm not saying you were sloppy or unprecise – you just weren't always as exact and to the point as you should have."

He noticed Camille's frown and explained "I put that down to lack of practice – when you worked undercover, you had to focus on other things, and on top of that, you were educated in a different system with different priorities and different ways of looking at things. As you said yourself some time ago, our legal systems are based on different foundations, and that comes through in all sorts of little details. You have become much more aware of that, and it shows in how you sum up things, how you write reports and all that. It's obvious that you have learnt a lot during the years on Saint Marie, and even though Inspector Goodman might not always have been ultra-correct with everything, you have learnt from him, too – which doesn't surprise me as he has the reputation of being an excellent detective – albeit somewhat eccentric on a personal level. The latter doesn't say much about him, and it's not important as it's results that count, and he has solved a number of fairly difficult cases, so he can't be a complete idiot."

He saw that Camille was getting a little impatient with his long winded monologue, so he decided not to dwell on that topic any longer. He cleared his throat and continued "But I'm digressing, and who am I to judge, anyway... To get back to your question… personally, I think you would make a fantastic DI anywhere, but you might not fit into a small station in, say, Cornwall or the Midlands or someplace like that because you're not familiar with the mentality and the traditions behind people's behaviour. The UK is very specific in a number of ways, and you have a different background because you didn't grow up here. It's different in London because we're more multi-cultural here, and the stations are bigger than out there in the countryside. So, if you want to stay in the UK, I think you'd be well-advised to stick to London – at least during the first couple of years. If you consider – er - returning to the Caribbean, I'm sure you'll be fine as this is where you grew up, and you can perhaps relate to people's background easier than you could over here."

Camille tried to take that in, then she moved over to the couch where Richard was sitting and asked "Would you want me to go back to the Caribbean, Richard?"

Her voice sounded a little prickly, and for a moment he just looked at her, surprised and not quite sure why she was asking him such a question, then he replied, shaking his head "No. No, Camille... not if you… if we… I mean, I'm certainly not in a position to… dictate what you do with your life, but I mean… You could surely get adapted to life here, and if you miss the sunshine, the sand and the beaches, then there's always a way to go and get your fix, if you know what I mean – that's what annual leave is for. But if it's the way of working, the more relaxed approach to things, and all that – and you feel that you wouldn't be happy here, then maybe you'd _want_ to move back…"

His voice trailed off, and silently, he added in his mind "… and leave me behind, heartbroken" – but he didn't say it. He had tried to avoid saying anything that could be perceived as taking her for granted, patronising or condescending, and he certainly didn't want her to feel tied down – good grief, they had only just started to go beyond the 'just friends' stage, who was he to make demands on how he thought she should live her life? Of course, he wanted to be a part of her life – but that went without saying, he figured. She had said they could belong together, and he had confirmed that he wanted the same thing… what else was there to say?

Camille didn't seem satisfied. She moved closer to him and said in a slightly testy way "Well, that doesn't answer my question. Let me rephrase it so you understand better… would you let me leave or would you make me stay?"

He just stared at her, helplessly… wasn't it enough that he had let her into his life despite his fears, that he had made it possible at all that they could have a relationship by restructuring the department, that he had told her over and over that he had missed her, that he did everything he could to make her happy (and boy, had he learnt a couple of _interesting_ details about the physical side of that over the past days and nights! His ears started burning as he thought of some of the things she had encouraged him to try… and the ones she had done to pleasure him… admittedly, it had been fun, so he wasn't complaining… and obviously she had enjoyed them, so he must have done something right!)… did he have to _say_ it? Didn't she _know_ that he didn't want her to leave? Couldn't she _feel_ it?

She realised she wasn't getting anywhere with him and sighed. "Right," she said then and got up abruptly, "if you can't make up your mind, I'll give you time and space to do so. I'll go back to my flat as soon as possible – I've got to take care of things there, the orchid and my little cactus will be happy to have me back. And since you presumably don't care whether I'm here or there - we won't have to see each other any more, if this is what you want."

She marched off, out of the room and upstairs where she pulled out her suitcase from under the bed and started to pack the clothes that were scattered in the bedroom.

She was seething on one hand – why couldn't he just _say_ something? Why did he have to wriggle like an eel every time they came to the topic of the future? When they had still been 'in limbo', he had said things like 'I could take you there in the spring' or 'we could go to that place some time' – but now that they had made some sort of commitment – at least from her point of view they had done so! – he was vague and unclear in what he said… Why? This was driving her bonkers.

On the other hand, she _knew_ that he found it hard to talk about emotions – he had said so to her before, and she had experienced it many times over the years she had known him. But really, it wasn't that he didn't know how she felt about him… she could have understood if she had been vague about her own feelings and left him in the dark, but she hadn't… so why on earth was it so hard for him to say that he cared about her and wanted her to stay? It wasn't asked too much, was it?

She felt tears stinging in her eyes and resolutely wiped them away. Why cry over someone who couldn't openly admit you were an important part of their life?

* * *

Down in the living room, Richard played nervously with the temple stems of his reading glasses, folding them and opening them up again repeatedly. Finally, he put the glasses on the table and sat back to stare on the wall, frustrated and confused.

 _Of course_ , he didn't want her to go. Not like this. Not now. Actually – never. It had been bad enough when he had left Saint Marie and she had haunted him for almost two years… but now that he knew what it was like to have her in his arms, to see her eyes getting dark and shiny with desire, to listen to her breathing next to him in the darkness, to hear her saying that being with him was the best thing ever, to see her smiling at him with this particular twinkle in her eyes… now it would be much, much worse.

He didn't want to lose her.

But he had no idea what he had done wrong. She had completely taken him by surprise with her question. With an angry frown, he sat up, and the heel of his hand struck the sofa's armrest with an irritated thud.

What on earth did she expect him to do or say?

Couldn't she understand that he didn't want to put pressure on her? Didn't she realise how happy he was that she was staying with him, that she had come to see him instead of sailing off to France? Wasn't it obvious that he was totally smitten with her? Hadn't he made it clear that he wanted her in his life?

He stopped to think again for a moment, and then it dawned on him that maybe he hadn't. He had never said anything like that. After their first time together, he had said in bed that if she kept doing what she was doing, he wouldn't chuck her out, but that had been said in the heat of the moment, and of course, he had _meant_ that he wanted her to stay with him – but maybe she hadn't taken it that way? And admittedly, it had almost sounded as if he wanted her to be his sex slave – which wasn't the point, really… What an abhorrent and embarrassing thought! She had always been his partner, his equal, his sidekick, his mate, his friend… and of course, he wanted it to stay that way, plus he wanted her to be his… oh, whatever! He might as well admit it to himself – he wanted her to be his life companion.

But he couldn't possibly tell her what to do and how to live her life – she was her own person, and she had to make her own plans. Preferably with him – but who was he to make any demands?

But then again… they had a history of misunderstanding each other… Hadn't he been upset with her for not e-mailing him again after he had sent her that infamous _very_ brief and concise message in response to her question? Hadn't he felt she hadn't tried enough – when in fact it had been _him_ who hadn't shown her that he'd wanted to hear from her again?

Whenever they had broached that subject in conversations recently, she had admitted that his short, business-like and sober message had discouraged her… maybe it was the same here, and she was discouraged by his attempt to let her make her own decisions and only wanted to hear him saying that he wanted and needed her in his life…

He knew that if he didn't stop her by saying something, she'd go – she was stubborn, and she was determined to bring her point across. He didn't quite know what it was, but she clearly expected him to make a move. And the fact that she didn't leave right away – although she could, it wasn't that late yet, and she could always get a taxi if she wanted to get away at all cost - gave him hope that she wanted him to reconsider and talk to her _tonight_.

Yes… she was actually giving him a chance – despite her anger and frustration.

Suddenly, he was reminded of his parents and how his mother had got up and left his father – who hadn't had any idea what he had done wrong, and who had had to be 'tricked' into following her. Graham Poole had admitted to Richard that initially he had just wanted to sit things out – he had been unhappy and lonely when his wife had left for Saint Marie, but he hadn't wanted to go after her. He had been too proud and stubborn – and at the same time, he had been infinitely grateful when Richard and the Commissioner had paved the road for him to come over without losing his face.

Well, there was nobody paving the way for _him_ here, Richard realised. But he was one step further already – he understood how serious the situation was. He'd have to make a move, otherwise they might head into a place where neither of them really wanted to be, but that they'd slip into it because neither of them could swallow their pride.

He sighed and got up. He had no clue if he was on the right track with what he thought she might want to hear, but he'd _have_ to give it a try. He couldn't stick his head in the sand and ignore the situation – he had too much to lose.

* * *

When he reached the upper floor, he saw that she had hauled her little suitcase into the other bedroom and was just about to take out a fresh pillow case and a duvet cover from the cupboard. So, she obviously was planning to stay for the night, but not in his bed – and he realised that she was indeed giving him a chance. She was willing to wait for him to come round… so she thought it was worth the effort, no matter how annoyed she was with him. That was a good sign.

The pillow and the duvet were already sitting on the couch in an untidy pile – she had pulled them out in a rage. She didn't turn around when he appeared in the doorway. She didn't even acknowledge his presence. She just went on with what she was doing, and he stood there, watching her. His arms were hanging down his sides, and his face was drawn. He knew that she knew he was there – she had squared her shoulders and jerked up her head when she had started to box the pillow into shape and then thrown it on the couch. She wouldn't have done that if she had been unaware of him standing in the doorway. Her movements were agitated and unfocused, and he could feel the tension in the air.

The duvet cover was quite large and less manageable than the pillow case, and Camille struggled a bit with it. However, she tried not to let it show - but she got more and more exasperated with the duvet as well as with the cover and how they refused to do what she wanted. When she tried for the third time to get the duvet all straight into the cover and it still didn't fit, she let out an impatient groan.

"Camille…"

His voice was low, but he knew from the way she stopped in her tracks for a moment that she _had_ heard him. She didn't react, though, but continued abusing the duvet…

Suddenly, she felt his hands on her shoulders, and she stopped moving.

"What?" She snapped at him, and he realised just _how_ hurt she was.

Good grief – what had he done – by doing nothing?

He asked softly "Will you listen to me?"

She stared at the opposite wall for a moment and then nodded hesitantly.

"Will you also look at me?" he continued, a little more forward now. She let go of the duvet and turned around very slowly. He saw that she had tears in her eyes. Whether it was sadness or anger – he didn't know, and actually, he didn't care. He didn't want her to cry for _whatever_ reason.

She stood there, her arms were now folded, her jaw was firmly set and her eyes full of hurt. Very attentively, he came closer and let his hands rest on her shoulders again for a moment, then he let them gently slide down her upper arms, down to her elbows. She didn't shake off his hands or make any movement to withdraw, so he felt somewhat encouraged to try and make her see his point. He knew he had to be careful – they both could be temperamental, and if he got it wrong, one word would lead to another, and they'd end up in an argument…

Nervously, he cleared his throat and said "Listen, Camille… I'm not entirely sure what we're fighting about… or if we're fighting at all, or what we're doing here… and maybe – hopefully - this is really just a stupid misunderstanding, but… let me tell you that _I don't want you to go_. I had… I thought you'd know that I don't want to be without you any more. But the point is… It's just that… Questions like that are – they are seductive."

He paused for a moment.

Seeing the confusion in her eyes, he explained "They seduce your counterpart to try and… and make demands and manipulate you, and you're not free any more. If I said _'I want you to stay with me',_ I'd force my wishes upon you, and that… that would be wrong. I cannot tell you what to do. I don't own you, and I don't want to put pressure on you. You said you need space, and so do I. I want you to be free in your decisions. I don't want you to say some time 'It's _your_ fault that I stayed here' or 'I wish I hadn't done that, but _you_ made me do it by saying – whatever'. If you want to stay here, with me, then I'd be… I'd be over the moon. You said – you said you want us to belong together…."

She nodded, and he continued, more confident now "And I want the same thing. I've been alone all my life, and while I didn't mind most of the time, I've had enough of it now. I want _you_ to be by my side. I thought you had forgotten me when I never heard from you – and it was so painful to think that I'd never see you again. I didn't know how to live with that, but of course… I had to, somehow, so I did. And then… you suddenly appeared, miraculously, and the truth is that I've been happier than ever before since you've come back into my life. And particularly since you… since you gave me to understand that… that you want us to be together. But I'm afraid that if I say so and make plans for the future, you will perhaps feel pressurised to stay in a place where you don't want to be… and I know that you miss Saint Marie, you miss your mother, and you miss your life there. I don't want you to be unhappy. I also know that… it can be hard to be together with me, and you might get fed up rather sooner than later. I'm… set in my ways… and weird… and… and a coward… and I always make things difficult… and for the life of me, I have no clue why you would _want_ to be with me… but well, if that's what you really, really want, then I'm happy and grateful… but I cannot make demands and tell you how to live your life…"

Somehow, he had managed to make her unfold her arms and take her hands into his. He lifted them to his lips now and kissed the backs of her hands, then he turned them around to kiss her palms and bring them to his cheeks. He felt that she was not adverse any more, and slowly, her arms came around his neck. He saw a tear falling from her eye, and he brushed it off with his thumb, whispering "I don't want you to go, Camille, and I hope you'll want to stay with me, but if you really wanted to leave, how could I hold you back?"

She sniffled and looked at him, tears in her eyes. This hadn't been what she had expected him to say. She had half expected him to blow up on her, to pick a fight and say something evasive. Instead, he had tried to _explain_ – something he never would have done when she had known him on Saint Marie. Back then, he had always tried to hide behind 'face-savers', made evasive statements and avoid telling her what was going on. He had been afraid of talking about anything that was remotely personal. Even when Aimee had been killed, he had hidden behind more or less general remarks, and it had taken her a while to understand that he just couldn't say more because he didn't know how to do it. She still was ashamed of how she had blurted out at him that he obviously never had had any friends so he didn't know what it was like to lose someone. That had been very tactless, insensitive and selfish of her, and she had regretted her impetuosity many times, even when it had been clear that he had not resented her for her outburst.

So, it was a big step for him to be so clear about the reasons behind something he had said or done – and now that he had explained, she actually understood. And she also understood that he was making a real, honest effort to be open and let her in.

With a deep sigh, she put her head on his shoulder.

He was right. Her question had been stupid. She hadn't looked at it that way – and she had made the same mistake she had made so often before already – she had been impatient and jumped to conclusions without thinking the whole thing through. Instead of formulating her question in a way that would have instigated a sincere dialogue, she had asked in a way that had come across as absolute, as if she was giving him an ultimatum – when all she had wanted was him to say that he wanted her to stay and make plans with her.

Come to think of it, it had been like he had wanted her to call him 'Chief' on Saint Marie – he had thought she was being disrespectful when she had thought he was being needy and weird… All he had wanted had been a _particular_ sign of recognition back then… and all she had wanted just now had been a _particular_ sign of his affection. But it had been silly of her to insist on this one specific way of phrasing it…

She felt his hand on her cheek, brushing away another tear, and he said tenderly "I'm sorry that I made you cry. I… I didn't want to hurt you. I meant well. I was just… I was just trying to avoid a mistake – and made another one instead…"

He heard her draw in a shuddering breath, and then he felt her lips on his neck for a moment before she said with a shaky voice "No, it's not only your fault… I shouldn't have… I mean, I know it's foolish, but I thought you didn't want to talk about the future and make plans because you weren't sure about what you wanted. I thought you… I thought you still weren't ready to admit that you care, and… I felt insecure. You seemed so… so evasive. And all the bad feelings from when you left me in Saint Marie came back – I thought you might not want me to 'invade' your life and had… had regrets about… about what happened. I can't spend time with you and let my feelings get deeper and deeper until there is no return… without knowing what you feel for me… and about us. I mean, I may draw my conclusions, but if you never say something… It made me feel like you didn't… I mean… I wanted you to just tell it like it is, you know?"

He nodded and responded "I understand now. And… and I promise to try. But… it's the first time ever that I'm in a situation like that – nobody has ever wanted me this way, so… so I just didn't know what you… what you had in mind… and I don't want you to think I take you for granted and expect you to do as I say… This is all so new, and I need time to get adjusted… It's like walking on thin ice… I'm simply afraid of… of making a wrong move."

She looked at him and smiled a little "I know. And for the records, you're not a coward, Richard. It takes courage to admit all this."

He wanted to say something, but Camille pulled him closer, and an instant later, he felt her lips on his. And although her kiss was sweet and tender, he also tasted the last salty tears, and he realised that they both had a lot more to learn.


	15. Moving forward

Chapter 15 – Moving forward

It was February, and Camille was looking through the notes she had made since the second module of her course had started. So far, she felt fairly confident about this section of the course. The module would officially finish in two weeks – with another set of exams during these last two weeks – starting this Thursday - just like the first module – and then she'd start her second assignment. There'd be four exams – on Thursday and Friday this week and then again on Monday and Tuesday next week. She couldn't imagine how the examiners managed to grade the exams so quickly, but by Friday next week all results should be there…

Of course, part of the exams were done by multiple choice, but there also were a couple of sections where the candidates had to write out answers in their own words, and that surely was a bit more demanding than the multiple choice parts… although, of course, there wasn't much room for interpretation. Either the candidates solved the task plausibly – or they didn't. There was a board of examiners, and there weren't really dozens of people taking the course… so somehow it worked out.

Like last time, she'd find out about which station she'd have to go to at the very last minute – together with the results of her exams. She hoped it would be Southwark or Kensington & Chelsea – both were fairly easy to reach from Stanmore, and it would be fun to work close to the city centre and have a chance to see all the famous sights on a daily basis. And of course it would sound _chic_ to say "I work at Notting Hill station" or "I'm based in Kensington". She knew she wouldn't be assigned to Barnet again – or to Islington – that much was clear. Hopefully, she wouldn't be the only trainee – but then again, hopefully and much more importantly, she wouldn't be assigned to the same place like Stephen again.

He had become a little too 'friendly' over the past few weeks. Obviously, he was under the impression that she might be interested in him – when, in fact, he didn't have the ghost of a chance. Even if she hadn't been involved with Richard, she wouldn't have been interested because he just didn't have anything that she would have been looking for – but somehow, he wasn't able to read the signs. She was reminded of Humphrey who had misread her, too. It made her wonder a little if she was perhaps sending out ambiguous signals to people – it struck her that two men in a row seemed to misunderstand her.

Stephen's situation was a little different from Humphrey's – he had been by himself for a while, there was no failed relationship looming in the background… but like Humphrey, he felt lonely and was looking for someone to fill that void. And his eyes had fallen on her – she was a little exotic, she was lively and entertaining, and she was a little flirtatious by nature. She meant nothing deeper with that, it was just her personality – and most people understood this. Camille had had friendly relations with all team members, and she had been well-respected by both male and female colleagues. DI Fryer had engaged in friendly banter with her every once in a while, and while they had both enjoyed that, it had been clear to everyone around them that it hadn't meant anything – neither to him nor to her.

Even Richard had observed their interaction with an amused smile – after their evening out at the pub with the team, he had seen that she still knew how to fend off unwelcome advances – and he had remembered how she had behaved on Saint Marie, too. She had been friendly, a little coquettish and seemingly amicable, but when people got too close, she knew how to rebuff them, too – without coming across as rude. There always was a twinkle in her eyes when she rejected someone…

Stephen, however, had apparently misunderstood her friendliness, and he seemed to expect that – since they were in the same course and would spend more time together in the future – they could be more than colleagues or friends.

Like Humphrey, he seemed to cherish false hopes, and Camille wasn't quite sure how she could get out of this situation without causing trouble. If she was too clear in her rejection, he might spread rumours about her that could bring up all sorts of problems; if she wasn't clear enough, she'd have to deal with unwanted advances. He didn't know that she was otherwise engaged – she felt that it was none of his business, and while she didn't make any efforts to hide her relationship with Richard, she didn't exactly walk around and talk about it constantly, either. She generally tried _not_ to talk about private matters with people in her course – except for a little chit-chat, she kept her personal matters to herself.

She figured that maybe his feelings would fizzle out if they were assigned to separate stations. Who knew what would happen during the time they'd spend there? He might meet someone he'd find more interesting – and for everyone's sake, that was what Camille hoped for. In the meantime, she'd just try to ignore his advances.

With a sigh, she tried to focus on her notes again. She was confident about the exams on Thursday and Friday, but the ones that were due early next week bothered her a little. However, she had discussed a few of the topics that might get asked with Richard, and that had been very helpful. He had pointed out a couple of things she hadn't thought of so far and helped her to get a better structure into her notes.

Gratefully, she remembered how he had spent an entire evening with her on looking through things and putting them into context. She hadn't planned to spend the evening like that – he had visited her after work, seen the notes on her table and asked her how it was all going. She had complained a little, and he had taken the time to listen and clarify the issue. Actually, he was an excellent teacher – as long as he remembered to be patient and didn't go off in a rant about something…

They had got into a serious discussion about a legal issue she had failed to understand, and he had sat down with her and started at point zero to explain what there was to know about it. He had drawn a diagramme to illustrate an example, and when he had explained the different aspects, the penny had dropped, and she had finally got the point. It had been immensely helpful.

With a smirk, she also remembered how he had _not_ left at the usual time… Instead, he had stayed overnight – which he usually only did on weekends – and she had fallen asleep in his arms. They had found out a while ago that the sofa bed was indeed quite comfortable for two people… In the morning, she had woken up to him caressing her, and although they hadn't had much time, she hadn't been able to resist him – as a result, neither of them had had breakfast, she had arrived at her course five minutes late because she had missed her usual train, and he had only just made it to the station in time – with difficulties – because he had hurried home to change into a different outfit before work – he couldn't possibly show up in slacks and a casual shirt. It had all been worth it, though… it had been a very passionate union, and Camille had walked around with a silly grin on her face all day long.

And once again she had been thankful for having the issue of contraception out of the way – she had been touched when she had found out that Richard had stocked up on what he called 'French letters' (Camille hadn't known that anyone still used this old-fashioned notion, but you could rely on Richard for that sort of thing…) before they had actually made love for the first time, even though he hadn't known when it would happen. It had meant that he had been thoughtful and considerate, and she really appreciated his attention and preparedness. But she was glad that they didn't have to worry about this – it would have made it harder to be spontaneous. Not that it would have brought any unbearable hardships, but the coil she had been wearing for a while already had made it a lot easier.

During her training in France, one of her female colleagues had recommended that she might want to consider getting one because police officers sometimes were subjects of violence and hate crime, and there were more – or different – pitfalls for females, compared to their male colleagues. Her colleague's explanation on the topic of the coil had been 'even if it might not be likely that you'd get into a situation like that – that doesn't mean it can never happen. And while you cannot always prevent rape, you can avoid getting pregnant from it, if worst comes to worst', - and it had opened her eyes for something she hadn't considered before…

Camille had initially been shocked when she had heard this reasoning – but there was some truth in it, so she had seen a doctor about it fairly soon. Fortunately, she had never been in the grim situation that her colleague had circumscribed, but she had never given up on her coil – it was reassuring to know that it was there and protected her to a certain extent. She got it checked regularly, and so far, she hadn't had any nasty side effects that other women she knew had complained about. Fortunately, she had found a trustworthy and reliable doctor in the UK rather quickly when she had realised that it had been time for another check-up before Christmas…

Now that she was in a relationship, it spared her – and her partner - from having to remember purchasing and stocking up on 'local' protection on a regular basis. She knew that with Richard she didn't have to worry about other risks – he was healthy (he had medical check-ups regularly and was very careful about his health in general, and he certainly hadn't 'slept around' before their relationship had started – she hadn't even had to wonder about that, it had been clear as crystal), he wasn't a womaniser, and he was absolutely single-tracked, monogamous and faithful – that was just the way he was wired… and so was she. They had different views on a number of things, but they shared the same attitude here – and on many other essential aspects of relationships…

He had not asked any questions about how she had 'taken care of things', but when she had asked him about a safe space for her phone and jewelry for the night after their passionate unions on Christmas Eve, he had suggested the drawer of his nightstand, and she had found the little cardboard box – still wrapped and sealed in plastic foil, so she had known that it had just recently been purchased – and she had realised that she might have to explain what she had meant when she had kept him from interrupting their actions. He had been a little embarrassed initally, but after much blushing and stuttering, he had admitted that he had been wondering, but hadn't wanted to ask later on as she had appeared to be so sure of herself – and it wasn't really a topic he felt comfortable with, anyway. But they _had_ discussed it, and Richard had seemed to be relieved that it was out of the way.

He had assured her that he wouldn't have minded to take care of things – she chuckled remembering his words - "After all, it's more my business than yours, isn't it? I mean, come to think of it, without me, you wouldn't have to worry about – er - getting pregnant…" He had a point there, but still – she hadn't met many men who would have seen it that way. In any event, it was a good thing that they had talked about it. It had felt good to know that he had been ready to 'do the responsible thing' and hadn't intended just to have fun without worrying about the possible outcome.

She and Richard hadn't hung a lantern on their relationship. They were a couple now, but it was nobody's business but their own. After their misunderstanding over Christmas had been overcome, Camille had stayed with him for a few more days before going back to her flat, and he had come over to see in the New Year with her. They had made a conscious effort to give each other time and space alone, and usually they saw each other once during the week and then every weekend.

It worked well this way as it gave Camille enough time for revising her notes and studying as well as for relaxing and having down time. Richard, by the same token, sometimes worked late and was glad that he didn't have to take her feelings into account on those days, and of course, he also needed time for himself and for unwinding. On weekends, they usually met up for walks, sightseeing, or other activities. They had also been to the pool together several times already, and Camille had been fairly impressed with Richard's athletic prowess – he might not be a second Mark Spitz or Michael Phelps, but he certainly was a good swimmer for someone in the second half of his 40s, and he didn't look all that bad in his trunks, either.

Camille had actually said as much to him – and then added that she thought he only looked better without clothes altogether… which had made Richard blush and tell her she was a teaser.

The truth was that he tried to keep in shape even more than before now because he didn't want to look too bad against all the other (younger) men she knew. Although she had emphasised that he wasn't old in her eyes, he knew only too well that there were several years between them, and while he couldn't do much about his thinning hair or his deteriorating eyesight, he could at least try to keep his body fit and somewhat attractive and do his best to look good for her. For years, he hadn't really cared much about his outer appearance – although he had always made a point of looking neat and proper, he hadn't paid attention to fashion and trends - but now that Camille was there, he felt that he had to make more of an effort.

Under Camille's influence, he had started wearing more 'fashionable' clothes, too. It wasn't all that obvious, but Camille had had a look at his wardrobe and decided that it needed a gentle makeover. She'd felt that Richard's style was slightly outdated, and while she knew that he'd never change radically – he simply was fairly conservative and liked his suits, shirts and ties – she figured he could use a couple of new things. As a result, Richard had got two new suits that weren't strikingly flashy, but more fashionable – while still being classical in their shape and cut – and she had also suggested looking for a couple of new shirts that had some fancy little details. She had also made him get two new casual shirts for evenings at home or weekend activities.

She had even managed to make him reconsider his pyjamas – while they suited him in a strange way, she had suggested that a little more variety wouldn't hurt. Initially, he hadn't been impressed with her idea and had said stubbornly that he was fine with his pyjamas and that they had done good service over many years, he was used to the style and didn't see any reason to make changes.

Her moment of glory had come when he had discovered that one of his pyjama jackets looked really shabby on the collar and sleeves, but the trousers still were fine – she had pointed out that it would be silly to get a new pyjama when only the jacket was raddled. She had suggested "Why don't you get a loose fitting Henley shirt in a matching colour? Or maybe you'll get a white or grey one – that would go with all your pyjama trousers…"

He hadn't been entirely convinced, but she had dragged him into the next best department store one Saturday, and they'd got a fine deal there – two shirts for the price of one, one was sage green, the other one was heather grey… As Camille had been well aware of his reluctance to wear the shirts on his own accord, she had washed them so he couldn't use the excuse that they were 'too new' and laid the sage one out for him next time she had come to stay with him. The colour brought out the sparkle in his eyes. Despite Camille's enthusiasm, he'd still been sceptical when he'd put it on, but Camille thought it looked great on him, particularly in combination with the green-and-blue striped trousers, and in the morning, he had admitted that it had surpassed his expectations. He had said "It's soft and smooth and a lot more comfy than I thought – that was a really good idea!"

So, little by little, Camille had taken influence, and he had got more comfortable with the idea that not everything remained the same in his house. With time, he had bought a few new kitchen appliances, Camille had convinced him to invest into new house slippers ("Look, I don't mind your leatherette slippers, but they're looking shabby at the toes and beginning to fall apart at the heel… why don't you have a look at what else is available?"), and there even had been a new electric toothbrush in the bathroom one day.

For both of them, it felt good to be in this relationship. After they had cleared their issues over Christmas, Richard had been more forthcoming and talked more about the future – and about the past. He had confessed to her that he hadn't been sure about her feelings for him back on Saint Marie and that he had been confused about the way he had felt about her – and that he had been scared. Camille had realised that on her own already, but it had done her good to hear it from him, anyway.

He had also said that he had thought that it was better to run away, but it had turned out to be an illusion that he could go back to the UK and continue to live there as if nothing had ever happened.

"I couldn't stop thinking of you," he had said as they were walking together on a muddy path in a park near his house, "and I was so angry and upset – with you, me, and everybody. And then I was hurt because after my response to your e-mail, you never e-mailed again – I thought you had filed me under 'experiences' and forgotten all about me… It took me a long time to admit to myself that I hadn't exactly given you any reason to believe that I wanted to hear from you…"

She had rolled her eyes at him and interjected "Oh, so you noticed? Hallelujah! I have said it before - I was so disgusted by your business-like reply… It made me think that you didn't want anything to do with me any more, and that Saint Marie had clearly fallen off your personal planet… I almost _hated_ you, you know. The problem was just that I couldn't stop thinking of you… does that sound familiar? Of course, I didn't think consciously of you all the time, constantly, non-stop, but you were always _there_ , somewhere in my thoughts. And it hurt so much… you were like a thorn in my side. I felt that I needed closure, and when I came here to the UK, I thought there's a chance our paths would cross… I didn't look for you, though, because I wanted to be done with my course before we'd meet again. When I came to Islington, I was totally shocked to find you there…"

"Tell me about it," he had replied with a crooked smile. "I thought I had just got hit by a lorry when Chuck Norris called me into his office to meet the new intern… and it was _you_! I wasn't sure if I was in a really amazing dream – or in a nightmare!"

She had tried to make it clear to him that she didn't want to be without him any more, and that her remark that she wanted them to 'belong together' had meant precisely that – that her home would be where his was, and if he felt he couldn't return to the Caribbean because he wasn't sure he could survive the climate there in the long run, she'd stay in the UK with him.

"I know, you said to your mum – when she was so excited about Saint Marie – that where we're from is who we are and that this defines where we belong… but don't you think we can adapt if we really want to and are with someone we… care for?"

She hadn't dared using the word 'love'… she wanted him to say it first, and surely he'd be clever enough to figure out what she was talking about…

Hastily, she had added, "And I did get used to living in France, too. I mean, I did miss the beach, the scent of the flowers, the food, the sunshine and the climate, and above all, I missed Maman, but until the offer turned up to do undercover work in the Caribbean, I hadn't had any perspective of returning to Saint Marie, and it was okay for me… so…"

He had nodded thoughtfully and taken her hand, pulling her to the right so she wouldn't end up walking right through a huge puddle on the path. With that, the conversation had turned to other topics, and when they had arrived at his house, they hadn't taken up the thread again. She had figured that it wouldn't make any sense to probe deeper – he might just need some time to let it all sink in and mull over the issue before he'd be ready to talk about it a little more.

* * *

Meanwhile, Richard was getting a little nervous. His mother had asked him when he'd come to Gloucestershire again, and she had been unusually persistent. Since their return from South America – the cruise had been a huge success, and they were already making plans for another one – he hadn't seen his parents, and he felt they were beginning to feel a little suspicious about why he had stayed away for so long.

He knew perfectly well that it was wrong to hide his relationship with Camille from his parents – but at the same time, he wasn't quite ready to talk about it at this point. He was sure that if he came out about it, his mother would only begin talking about settling down, buying a bigger house, getting married, and having children… when he was just getting used to having Camille in his life at all, being able to spend time with her, talk to her, hold her and kiss her… and whatever else there was that lovers did. It was much too early for him to discuss details they weren't sure about yet at the moment.

He hadn't forgotten their conversation during the walk they had taken recently. He had been touched by her declaration that she could 'get used' to life in the UK. She wouldn't have said it if she hadn't meant it, but he certainly was aware of how much she missed the Caribbean at times.

She had said so herself – one evening, she had wistfully remarked that she'd give anything to hear the sound of the waves lapping on the beach for a moment or to smell the scent of the plumeria bushes near her mother's bar. And seeing some colours wouldn't hurt, either… everything was so grey here in London… She knew it wasn't true, but sometimes it appeared to be that way – she had only been homesick for a moment.

He knew what she meant – while he had lived on Saint Marie, he had missed the fog and the rain, the cool rainy weather or the cool sunny weather (as long as it was cool, he was fine!), seeing the first daffodils, the rustling of fallen leaves under his feet, the crisp morning air… all the little things he loved about the UK… And of course there had been the food… he had got used to the Caribbean food with time, but he still had missed his mother's Sunday roast, his occasional 'fix' of fish and chips, and all the other typically British – or English – treats…

Her declaration during their walk _must_ have meant that she didn't want to be without him any more. And the truth was that he didn't want to be without her any more, either. He wasn't quite sure, though, if he'd follow her literally _anywhere_ – but then again, maybe she just meant to say that they'd find a compromise for whatever situation they might find themselves in…

It hadn't escaped him that she had avoided using the word 'love'. He remembered how they had misunderstood each other so badly over Christmas… and he concluded that maybe she'd want him to say it first. Just like he had avoided saying that he wanted her to be with him because he hadn't wanted to put pressure on her, she might now avoid talking about love because she didn't want him to feel forced into a corner and make him say something he didn't feel ready to say yet.

The thing was – he was more than ready to say it. He just didn't know how. He had _thought_ it so often already, and he definitely _felt_ it. But something held him back – he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. It vexed him – why couldn't he just say it?

As he stood in his bathroom one evening, brushing his teeth with his fancy new electric toothbrush (why had he resisted getting one for so long? Camille had been right when she had said it was more hygienic and generally healthier for his teeth, plus he'd like it much better than his old regular toothbrush!), looking at his reflection in the mirror and realising that – along with his blue-and-grey striped pyjama trousers - he was wearing the grey Henley shirt that she had got for him and that had become a favourite piece of nightwear in the meantime, he remembered the last time – no, the _only_ time! - he had told a woman that he loved her…

She had smiled at him, sympathetically, and said "Thank you… that's so sweet of you… but I'm afraid I don't feel the same way about you…"

And then she had got married to someone else.

Did he perhaps have some kind of _trauma_ because of this?

Well, that sounded like a tempting excuse, but he admitted to himself that it was rubbish. He wasn't traumatised. He was only being a coward because of this experience. This experience had held him back from talking to her about personal stuff on Saint Marie, it had held him back from telling her that he wanted her to stay with him, and it was now holding him back from saying that he loved her. Which was what he did… his feelings for her were much stronger than his feelings for 'that woman' had ever been, now that he thought about it.

He had believed in a lot of romantic nonsense back then… by now, he knew that what he had believed to be immortal love had basically been a mix of infatuation and blindness – and self-deception. He had been so wrapped up in his own little world that he hadn't seen what was going on around him, and at the end of the day, he had loved the feeling of being in love – but nothing more. He had built a castle in the air, without really _knowing_ the person he had been dreaming of sharing it with him.

With Camille, it was decidedly different. He knew her. He trusted her. He didn't overlook her shortcomings – he was very aware of them, but although they sometimes annoyed him, he didn't really mind. They were part of who she was, after all. He didn't think she was perfect – nobody was. Perfect wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want her to change – he had no right to expect anybody to change for his sake – after all, he wouldn't like getting reformed, either (at that point, he smiled and remembered the toothbrush, the slippers, the Henley shirts, the suits and shirts… and all the other things she had smuggled into his life to make it more comfortable… but that wasn't 'being reformed', that was 'improving someone's life'…). He didn't want her any other way.

And he realised that this was actually _real_ love… It was easy to fall in love with a fantasy image, but falling (and hopefully staying!) in love with a real person – that was something entirely different. It was so much better…

He'd tell her. Yes, he'd tell her sometime soon.

Very soon.


	16. Plans and Anticipation

Chapter 16 – Plans and Anticipation

With Camille's exams taking place, however, it was hard to create the romantic atmosphere that he considered a vital prerequisite for something as earth shattering and important as a declaration of his love.

One thing was that he didn't see much of her – and when he did, she wasn't in the right frame of mind for anything apart from panicking over the exams. They got together on the weekend in between her exams, and her nerves were shot because she thought she had made a major mistake in the first exam. She told Richard about it, and after having listened to her, he reassured her that she might have chosen an unusual approach, but the procedure she had followed had been correct, and no, she wouldn't fail the exam because of this. He hadn't seen her this nervous before – and somehow it was moving to see the usually so self-confident and sure-footed woman disappear and realise that she was afraid of failure, just like anybody else. He had managed to distract her and help her focus on other things for a while, but she had always returned to the exams – it had been a pitiable sight.

The other thing was that he wasn't entirely sure how to bring it across without sounding sentimental. And it didn't help that they were approaching Valentine's Day – everywhere he looked, there were pink balloons, gift boxes for 'the important day' and what-not. She'd get her exam results on Valentine's Day – would she be in the mood to hear that he loved her? Wouldn't she be pre-occupied with the results? And what else did he want to do but tell her that he loved her – did he want to come up with a gift? He didn't fancy all the gung-ho around Valentine's Day at all – too commercial! – but his confession would surely become a more memorable event if he had a gift for her.

Flowers? Not again.

Something fancy to wear? No, she already got the shawl for Christmas – he didn't want to recycle that idea. Even he wasn't this unimaginative.

A ring? No, not yet. Too early. Way too early, actually.

A gift voucher? Maybe for a spa treatment? Er… no. How lame! She'd hardly be impressed.

He pondered the possibility of taking her out to dinner, but scrapped the idea immediately. All good restaurants were booked out over Valentine's Day, and anyway… he didn't fancy the vision of sitting in a place with tons and tons of other couples confessing their love to one another – that would be just about the most unromantic and embarrassing thing he could think of.

No, he'd have to find a better solution for this issue…

On Tuesday, he went out for lunch with the team, and on a whim, he decided not go right back to the station afterwards. He felt a little restless and wanted to stretch his legs, so he walked around the area a little, thinking of Camille and wondering how she might be faring in this last exam. Yesterday evening, they had talked on the phone, and she had sounded fairly optimistic about the third exam she had just written… but she was nervous about the last one.

When he checked his watch and realised that he'd have to be back in about 10 minutes, he took the shortcut through a shopping centre. As always around lunch time, it was crowded with people taking their break, doing some last minute convenience goods shopping and looking at the fancy displays in fashion shops.

The two women in front of him were apparently on their way to a jewelry store, and he had to smile a little when he overheard one of them raving about a particular bracelet. The other lady wasn't so convinced and said she'd much rather go to the shop at the other end of the centre – they had more tasteful things – "and not that generic stuff that you get everywhere, like Pandora or Swarovski or what-have-you… really, Charlotte, you always talk about individuality, and then you are so obsessed with this standardised stuff, that's just _perverse_!"

But Charlotte – whoever she was - couldn't be stirred from her resolve, so the two women turned left, and Richard could make some headway. My, this place really was busy around lunchtime! He remembered that he had wanted to get something sweet for Wednesday evening – wasn't there a chocolate shop in this centre as well?

He approached the direction sign that was listing all the shops, checked his watch once more and sighed. Well, he'd just have to come back after work then. He'd have enough time - Camille had already warned him that she wouldn't be in the mood for getting together tonight – she'd rather take a long, hot shower and fall into her bed straightaway after dinner, as she had explained…

* * *

The phone rang while he was pottering around in his kitchen, making himself dinner. It couldn't be Camille because they had just talked, so Richard decided to ignore it. But when he listened to the message on his mailbox later on, he sighed and figured it would be better not to ignore it – he tapped on his phone's screen, selected the relevant number and called his parents.

His mother answered the phone and was delighted to hear back from him so quickly. Sometimes, it took him _days_ to call her back!

"Look, Richard, I just found out that there's a special open day over the coming weekend in Rodmarton Manor near Cirencester on Sunday, and I wondered if you were interested… the tours of the house are _almost_ free of charge on open days, there's huge discount, and you mentioned a while ago that you'd like to see the place sometime. Of course, it's only a limited part of the house that you will be able to see as they are revamping it for the regular opening that will be in May, but apparently they decided that they'd want to give people an appetiser already now that many will show up for the snowdrops season… so you'll get at least an impression… Of course, there might not be so much to look at in the gardens apart from the snowdrops, but maybe… if we're lucky … there might be some early daffodils and a few other flowers already…"

Richard interrupted her torrent of words by saying "Yes, Mother. That sounds good," – and noticed with satisfaction that he had indeed managed to throw her for the loop. He took advantage of her sudden speechlessness and added "I've meant to call you tomorrow, anyway, to ask if it's okay that I'm coming… I'll be renting a car, so you won't have to pick me up and drop me off anywhere – makes it a little easier, I suppose. I'll let you know when I'll leave the city – but it won't be before Saturday morning. Pointless to drive all the way in the weekend rush on Friday…"

"Oh…" his mother clearly was baffled by his swift and calm explanation. "Well, then – you think you'll be there already for lunch on Saturday?"

Richard calculated quickly in his head and then replied "If you don't mind eating a little later than usual, perhaps at around 1 p.m., then yes. Obviously, I can't give any guarantees regarding traffic, so it's better to have lunch a bit later, if that's okay with you… I'll give you a ring when I leave my place…"

His mother didn't have any objections, and they chatted on for a little while. When Jennifer Poole put down the phone and turned around to her husband, she was still quite astonished. "Well, well, well – that's unusual," she murmured.

"What?" Graham Poole looked up from his magazine. She recounted the conversation with Richard, and her husband raised his eyebrows. He didn't know his son very well, but he had seen him making schemes, plans and decisions every once in a while, and he knew that Richard could be very cunning when he pursued a plan, so he suspected that he had something up his sleeve.

However, he wasn't one for speculations, so he shrugged it off and just said "Hm. Unusual, you're right. But I'm sure there's a perfectly simple explanation in the end…"

* * *

Camille looked at the clock on the wall and put down the dishtowel she was wearing around her waist as a makeshift apron. Soon, the doorbell would ring, and Richard would be there… She hadn't given him a spare key to her place – and vice versa. Somehow, they had silently agreed on not taking this step at the point they were at right now – it was a matter of respecting each other's space.

It was Wednesday evening – time for their usual mid-week get-together. She was more relaxed tonight than yesterday right after the exams, although she still felt a bit worn out. The exams had been more demanding this time than after the first module, and she had felt more nervous. So, all she had wanted yesterday after her return home had been a hot shower, a bite to eat and a good, long sleep. She had had today off, and the same would go for tomorrow. She'd have to go in again on Friday, though. She had been so exhausted from the exams that she had fallen asleep as soon as her head had hit the pillow and hadn't gone up before 9 a.m. this morning. Actually, she hadn't got up then – she had just brushed her teeth and then indulged in a lengthy breakfast in bed – with good coffee, buttered toast, scrambled eggs and a few extras. It had been heavenly!

She'd find out about her results on Friday… Someone in her course had said that it was ironic that they'd get their results on Valentine's Day – she hadn't even noticed. Valentine's Day had never been all that important to her, and she didn't think it played a major role for Richard, either… He had gone off in a rant about what he called 'commercial holidays' a while ago, and she remembered only too well what he had said about the Erzulie festival while he had lived on Saint Marie.

She had to admit that he had had a point when he had summed up "So, she wears _three_ wedding rings and has _three_ husbands – and she is conceived of as never able to attain her heart's most fervent desire – why is she the spirit of _love_? That's more like adultery and fornication to me! She rather sounds like the spirit of disaster, confusion and heartache! But well, if you summarise that all under love, you may not be off the mark, after all…"

Of course, Camille had rejected his scorn back then – but then she had read up about Erzulie and realised that he hadn't been entirely wrong with his interpretation. It was all a matter of how you looked at things, she had reckoned. She had kept acknowledging Erzulie, but she had never had another blind date for the festival again… the whole thing had lost its fascination for some reason, and also, there had been more and more commercialism about it, and that had put her off for good. Sometimes she wondered if literally everything she had cherished during her childhood and teenage years would get tainted with time and eventually lose its innocence…

Well, this was not the time to dwell on thoughts like that. She had just taken out the plates and laid out the cutlery on her little table when her phone buzzed and a text popped up – '5 more minutes! Run & hide!'

She giggled with delight – he had become so much more relaxed with her over the past weeks. Of course, he was still buttoned-up and easily embarrassed, but it had become a lot better. Since their 'almost-fall-out' on the evening of Boxing Day, he had made an effort, and it was strange how he had remained the same person, yet came across quite differently now.

If only… if only he were a bit more forthcoming or _romantic_ sometimes… he could be so terribly prosaic!

She didn't quite know what she expected, though – she didn't really have any reason to complain. He was tender and caring, and he took her seriously, he never under-estimated her, and he had already made a few changes to please her… so she should be patient with him – maybe with time, he'd realise that he could actually say something nice without being prompted to do so in the first place. He wasn't consciously rude, and actually he was rather considerate towards her – but at times she wished he'd be a little more… obliging, for lack of a better word.

But these thoughts were soon forgotten when he stood in front of her, kissing her and holding out a box of Belgian chocolates to her and saying "Here… that's for you! The past week has been a bit stressful for you, hasn't it? I thought you might like something that helps to re-establish your balance… I know from experience that these never disappoint when the going gets tough!"

Well, really – he always managed to spring a surprise… hadn't she just inwardly complained about a lack of obligingness? How silly of her to wish he was different – he was just right the way he was!

* * *

There were more surprises after dinner. Not only did he notice that her shoulders were still sore from the hunched posture she had adopted while sitting the exams… no, he actually got up from his chair, ordered her to remain seated and gave her a massage – at first only a very light one, but when he noticed (with some satisfaction, apparently!) how much she enjoyed it, he asked her to remove her pullover and then intensified the pressure on her bare shoulders and neck. She closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure – oh, this was heavenly! He worked his way to her upper arms, back to her shoulders, to her neck, to the front of her shoulders… the straps of her top slid down, and carefully, he also removed the straps of her bra so there were no obstacles in his way.

The massage slowly turned more into stroking and caressing, his hands eventually slid down to her cleavage, and he began fondling her breasts. Camille felt her body reacting to him, and with a sigh, she leant back on her chair, opened her eyes and looked up to him. Her eyes were full of tenderness and longing, and she put her hands over his, asking softly "Want to stay for the night, Richard?"

He shook his head and said with remorse in his eyes "Not tonight… not when I have to work tomorrow and would have to tear myself away from you way too early in the morning… But the evening isn't over yet, is it?"

With that, he bent down to kiss her – and their conversation got a bit disrupted from there, though it covered all essentials they wanted to talk about at this point. For some things, gestures and half-sentences were quite enough…

When Richard was reluctantly getting dressed again, he remembered he hadn't told her about their forthcoming weekend trip yet.

"By the way," he said, slipping into his trousers, "If you're up to it, I have a plan for the weekend…"

Camille – who was watching him as he was struggling a little with the renitent hook at the waistband - shot him an inquiring look and asked curiously "And what would that be?"

He looked up and responded with a nervous smile "It's a surprise. It comes as part of a package, starting Friday evening with dinner at my place… The only thing I ask of you is that you bring an overnight bag with clothes for two days – nothing too posh, but nothing too casual, either… the kind of thing you'd wear at the office, you know… along with sensible shoes… and that you won't run off screaming once you find out what's going to happen…"

She raised her eyebrows and said "If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you're up to something scary, but I can't quite bring myself to believing that. What is it, Richard? What are we going to do?"

He shrugged, still smiling, and said "Isn't it the point of a surprise that you don't know what's going to happen? I'm just trying to – er – be a little less predictable…"

Then, suddenly seemingly serious, he added "Mind you, Camille, I'm actually worried silly already that you might not like it… as long as you don't know what it is, though, I can keep telling myself that it'll work out just fine… You know, the power of wishful thinking!"

She knew that he was partly joking, but there was genuine concern in his voice as well. She gave him a loving smile and said reassuringly "So far, none of our adventures has disappointed me. I'm sure all will be fine. I'm ready for whatever surprise you have in store for me…"

He looked at her as she lay there, propped up on her elbow, her curly hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes soft and tender in the afterglow of their passionate union – and for the umpteenth time he asked himself how on earth it had happened that this amazingly beautiful and brilliant woman had chosen him (he was in no illusion over this – it was the female who chose the male, not the other way round)… and he wondered why he had just got dressed when he really didn't want to leave her now….

But he had things to do tomorrow – they had a few difficult cases to deal with at the moment, and he needed his sleep… Fortunately, Harrison was back by now, so it wasn't only Fryer and himself who'd have to cope with the mess, but still…

She knew all this, so she got up, wrapped the light sofa blanket around herself and hugged him one last time before she closed the door behind him.

Later, when she lay in her bed, wearing her fleece pyjamas and hugging her hot water bottle (Why was it so cold in this country? And how come she needed neither a hot water bottle nor fleece pyjamas when she was sleeping in Richard's bed with him by her side?), she let the evening pass in review – and had to giggle again when she recalled how he had promised her a surprise…

That had sounded a little like Humphrey when he had told her to come to the little bungalow on the beach, and he'd present her a surprise…

Well, Richard's surprise surely would be something more exciting than watching 'Godzilla' or 'Dracula' together, that much was sure!

For a moment she wondered how Humphrey and the team might be faring these days, but then she figured it wasn't important any more – she had been gone for well over half a year now, and most likely Humphrey had long forgotten about her. Catherine had mentioned in an e-mail that he and Florence were a good team and that Dwayne had reported that Humphrey hadn't mentioned Camille any more after a while – he had actually gone as far as saying that it was like Florence and him had always worked together and that their cooperation was perfect… that hadn't sounded like he was missing her.

Camille was glad about that – and so was Catherine. She had made a sardonic comment about Humphrey's lack of sensitivity while they had skyped some time, and Camille had just laughed and remarked that Humphrey liked the _idea_ of deep feelings, but that didn't mean he actually _had_ them. Maybe she was unfair, but she was relieved that this all lay behind her.

She had only written one or two e-mails to Florence – she hadn't wanted her shadow to hover over the team, she had wanted them to forget her, actually. So, it was okay with her that they didn't make efforts to get in touch, either. It was better this way. This didn't mean they couldn't reconnect some time, but for the time being, it was better to go separate ways…

She thought of the compass ring that she had put into her memory box… Maybe it would be good to look through the box once again sometime and revise the contents… She usually did that once a year around Christmas, but this time she hadn't done it – she had been too distracted…

Well, she could do it over one of the next weekends. Not this weekend, though – she'd be busy then!

* * *

Richard was relieved to learn that DI Fryer and his team were making progress with one of the trickier cases and apparently getting closer to solving it. He wished reality was a bit more like TV detective shows where teams just had to deal with one case at a time – as if criminals waited in line to do their thing one after another. Unfortunately, real life was different – people didn't stop committing crimes just because at the other end of the district someone had been killed and it wasn't their turn yet to violate the law in whatever way. No, they continued harassing and mugging, hurting and killing people, there was domestic violence, theft, robbery and manslaughter – and nobody asked if the police was perhaps too busy or too understaffed to take on any new cases…

The fact that he didn't have to summon yet another meeting on this particular case meant that he had time to do a little research on the internet, and he managed to take care of most of his shopping after work, too, so he was quite pleased with himself. He had also had something to eat before returning home – not a huge meal, but just a tomato soup in a pub, along with bread and something to drink. He hadn't wanted to spend too much time on waiting for a 'real' dinner – he'd have stuff to do at home…

He knew that Camille had gone swimming tonight – as they were going away over the weekend, she had decided to get a little exercise during the week now that she had the time. Under normal circumstances, he would have come along, but he had already been earlier this week when she had had her exams - and then, of course, he had other plans for the evening…

He was grateful when he finally arrived at home. He had felt his arms getting longer and longer by the minute on the way home from the store – he had his hands full and was beginning to feel like a pack donkey already. Of course, the truth was that he only carried two bags and his briefcase, but one of the bags was rather heavy, and the weather wasn't too cooperative, either, so he was happy when he closed the door behind himself eventually.

At first, he took out all the grocery items in the kitchen – fortunately, they provided cooler bags in supermarkets these days. Some of what he had bought went right into the freezer; other items were stored in the fridge or placed on the worktop near the stove…

Humming along to the radio that was playing in the kitchen, he began to unpack his bags and looked at all the items he had bought, wondering if he had perhaps gone a bit wild… Oh well, the more, the merrier… He wrinkled his nose as he struggled with a particularly obstinate clasp – what did those people who designed packaging make believe that their customers were nimble-fingered superheroes who'd find the predetermined breaking line in every little plastic foil?

After he had unpacked everything and laid it out on the table, he began his work in the living room – and when he was done a little over half an hour later, he was fairly impressed to see the difference. He just hoped Camille would like it. Admittedly, it looked a little – outlandish… for lack of a better word. But then again, that was exactly what he had wanted, so all was good. It was an advantage that the living room was on the backside of the house – he wouldn't have liked his neighbours to see what he had come up with… Not it was any of their business, but he didn't want people to gossip. He knew that there already had been a few raised eyebrows and questioning glances because of Camille's regular appearance at his house over the past weeks, and Mrs Fletcher had tried to find out more already when she had asked him to feed King George over a weekend recently… He had valiantly withstood the temptation to tell her to go and jump into a lake, instead he had just made a few non-committal remarks and distracted her by asking about her plans for the weekend. Just as he had expected, she had jumped on the chance to brag a little – and only when she had returned to her house again and closed the door, she had realised that she hadn't found out anything about the mysterious dark beauty who visited Inspector Poole so often these days…

Eventually, Richard switched off the radio and all the lights, climbed upstairs and went into the spare bedroom where he opened the closet and took out a fresh set of bedlinen. He'd strip the bed tomorrow and put on fresh stuff – with a little luck he'd manage to do so before leaving the house…

He felt his body tingling with a sudden thrill of anticipation. He hadn't thought he'd enjoy this so much, but it really was fun. He just hoped Camille would like his little surprise, too…


	17. Valentine's Day Dinner at Richard's

Chapter 17 – Valentine's Day Dinner at Richard's

Camille was almost dancing when she entered her flat – she had found out about her results and was over the moon. After she had panicked so much, she had expected low grades, but actually she had received very good marks, and she was happy with herself. She had no idea how she had done it, but in the exam that had scared her most she had reached 98%. She had been so sure that she had blown it… So much for gut feeling!

And she had found out where her next assignment would be. She'd be going to the Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham, to the Hammersmith Police Station. This time, there'd be one more intern beside herself – Claire, the woman who had told her about her colleague having worked in Barnet for a while. In hindsight, it didn't surprise Camille any more that he had got a transfer after DI Henderson had come to the station – considering her own experiences, she figured that Henderson had driven Claire's colleague up the walls…

Claire was a nice person – quite unassuming, but fairly tough. She was short and stout, and she had a great sense of humour. Camille was looking forward to spending more time with her – she wasn't really on the lookout for a best friend, but it would be fun to have someone to spend time with during lunch breaks and all that.

First and foremost, she was pleased not to be assigned to the same place like Stephen. He was going to Southwark. When Camille and Claire had realised that they were both going to Hammersmith, they had got into talking and making plans about showing up at the station together on their first day, and Claire had told her about her previous assignment: "I've been to Barkingside, in the Redbridge Borough, that's over in Essex, and boy, the DI there was _weird_! But after a while I got used to him. Actually, he's pretty good from a professional point of view, but he has some odd habits. Have you ever met anybody who snuffed tobacco? He does, and I tell you, it's disgusting!" She rolled her eyes at the memory.

They had both laughed, and then Claire had said "It will be fun not to be the only intern in the station. Weren't you in Islington in the end, I think – with Stephen and David? I did hear that Barnet didn't work out for you…"

"Yes, that's right," Camille had confirmed, "both David and Stephen were in Islington with me - although I didn't see much of David as he was in a different department. Stephen and I were actually in the same team…"

"So, how did you like it?" Claire had asked, adding with raised eyebrows "Stephen said the DI was rather besotted with you!"

Camille had said dismissively "Fryer? Oh, I don't know… he's a fun person, very much the jokester. Always ready to make you laugh, but rather thorough, too. I don't think he saw anything special in me – I think I saw him flirting with at least four women on the same day, including the cleaner who is close to retirement, happily married to her husband of _at least_ twenty-five years and has four children. It's just the way he is, and nobody thinks anything of it. He's not slimy, though. Very competent altogether. The situation at Islington was a little tricky to begin with, for that matter… The thing was that the whole team got rearranged because the other DI, Harrison, broke a leg just a few days before I came, so it was a bit of a challenge for everyone, with tasks getting redistributed and all that. But it worked out well, and I think I learnt a lot…"

She had hoped Claire wouldn't go deeper into the subject of the staff there – she didn't want to lie about Richard, but she didn't want to say too much, either.

Fortunately, Claire's thoughts had gone off on a different tangent… She had said "You know that Stephen's going to Southwark this time?" Camille had nodded, and Claire had continued "He was trying to make me swap with him so he could go to Hammersmith with you, did you know that, too?"

Camille hadn't been too happy to hear that. Good that Claire hadn't given in… and she'd said that much to her. Claire had chuckled and replied "I'm afraid he doesn't get the message that you're not interested. He's a bit like a puppy, isn't he…" Then she got serious and said "It might be flattering for a while, but I find men like that quite creepy, to be honest. Have some self-respect, really! It's not like it's the end of the world when you're single for a while, I think. And that goes for everyone, regardless of gender and orientation."

With that, she had got up and said "Right, Camille – I'll see you on Monday then. Have a great weekend – any plans?"

Camille had replied vaguely, saying she wasn't sure yet and asked what Claire would be up to over the weekend. "Oh, I'll go home to see my nan," Claire had responded. Noticing Camille's inquiring look she had explained, "My parents both died in an accident when I was a baby - my mother was a teenager when she had me, so her mother still was fairly young when she died. Nan took me in. She is basically my mother, if you will – I have no memories of my real mother. Sounds kind of sad, I know, but before you say so… it's the only life I know, and I'm not unhappy or feeling deprived of anything. When I was a kid, I sometimes thought it would be nice to have a huge family and lots of siblings, but well, it is as it is…"

She had smiled, and then she added, "Mind you, I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I haven't spoken about it in years! Anyway – take care, and have a good weekend, whatever you'll end up doing!"

* * *

Whatever she'd end up doing… Camille actually had no idea. Richard had been so vague with his 'plan' – and he hadn't disclosed any more details after his initial 'invitation', so she just had to follow his instructions. She packed a little bag with clothes for two days – one pair of black trousers that she could wear with everything, an emerald green turtleneck pullover, her cobalt blue polo neck pullover and matching black sensible shoes, along with nightwear, underwear and some toiletries. She'd wear her jeans, along with a fancy red jumper – she could wear that with the black trousers, too, and the jeans – albeit rather casual - would go together well with the other clothes, too. So, she was all set…

Would they travel somewhere? Would he take her to some fancy place? She could hardly restrain her curiosity. And yet, there was no way she'd find out – she just had to play along…

Richard had asked her to be at his place at around 7.30 on Friday evening, and she did her best to be punctual – but the bus was late, and in the end it was 7.45 when she arrived at his house. A slightly dishevelled Richard opened when she rang the bell – he was still holding the apron (that he had hastily got rid of before answering the door – but then had forgotten to put away) in one hand, with the other hand he was trying to smooth his hair. The two top buttons of his shirt were open, his sleeves were rolled up, his reading glasses were resting on his head, and overall, he looked so endearingly domestic that Camille just had to smile.

He kissed her on the cheek, ushered her in and took her coat – all in one smooth movement, as it seemed. When he had hung up the coat and thrown the apron to the side, he took her in his arms and kissed her a little more thoroughly.

When she could speak again, she said "Now, that's quite the welcome…" – and then, sniffing, "Hmmm… this smells wonderful – what is it?"

"Dinner," he said, matter-of-factly. And then he added "You're late – but I counted on it, so I'm not complaining!"

She was about to object and turned to go straight into the living room, but he shook his head and said "We'll have the starters in the kitchen – I need to keep an eye on the main course…"

Her bag was securely placed next to the staircase, and they went into the kitchen together. Camille didn't believe her eyes when she saw what he had prepared – on a tray placed on the kitchen table, there were four tiny sandwiches with different toppings for each of them – tuna, corned beef, sliced egg with caviar (!), and brie cheese – neatly arranged on plates, two champagne flutes were waiting for them to take their aperitif, and all that was arranged in front of a small lemon tree – a flower-shaped helium balloon was fixed to it, and there was a handwritten sign saying 'Here's to you, Camille', sticking out of the pot.

She looked at him inquiringly, and he explained a little awkwardly as he was opening the bottle and pouring champagne into the glasses "Well, your exams, you know… you got the results today, didn't you? How did it go?"

While she told him about her results and they nibbled on their food, he kept throwing glances in direction of the oven, and considering that it smelled quite appetising, she got more and more curious and finally asked again "What is it, Richard? It smells like all sorts of things – fish, rosemary, lemon… Have you made all this?"

He rushed to the oven and said "Yes, I have, and you are right – all the things you listed are in there. It needs another few minutes to be done, though… - Why are you so surprised?" He had turned around and seen the astonished look in her eyes. "You did know that I can cook, didn't you?"

"Well, yes…" she said, still slightly taken aback. Then she laughed and confessed "I just didn't think you'd be such a gourmet cook…"

He wasn't quite sure if he deserved this label, but he was flattered, anyway. The fish did look good, and it smelled good – it would hopefully taste good as well.

He opened the oven, took out the dish and put it down on the stove. "Ta-da…" he said "Here you go: Grilled filet of plaice with roast potatoes and julienne vegetables on the side!"

Camille came with the plates, and when he had arranged the food neatly and to his entire satisfaction, she looked at the 'composition', gently tilted her head to one side and said praisingly "This looks better than everything I've eaten in months, I'd say!"

In all fairness, he was rather proud of himself – he had been a bit worried about the fish maybe falling apart and becoming a huge mess, but it had all worked out fine. "The wine is in the fridge," he mentioned then, taking the plates and moving to the door, asking over his shoulder "Would you mind opening it and bringing it in then? Glasses are inside already…"

She felt that was a bit rude, but well… it was okay, nobody was perfect.

When she opened the door to the living room, though, where the dinner table was, her eyes almost popped out of her head, and she stood there for a moment, open-mouthed – and in an instant she took back every thought about him maybe not being perfect… He had decorated the living room with streamers, garlands and colourful buntings, there were crepe paper flowers everywhere, along with little balloons, yellow candles and napkins were on the table, and everything looked festive and cheerful.

He was standing beside the table, looking at her in hopeful anticipation, fidgeting with a streamer hanging down from a chair back. When she didn't say anything, he got a little anxious, but then she put down the bottle and turned to him, her eyes shining with surprise and happiness.

"What… what's that?" she finally asked. "Is that all for me?"

"Er… I'm not expecting anybody else for dinner, so... yes, I guess so…" was his reply.

She smiled radiantly and tilted her her head to one side, saying "This is amazing, Richard – I feel… I don't know what to say, to be honest…"

"So… you like it?" he asked, worry in his voice.

Her answer was wordless, but clear enough. When he released her, he whispered "Let's have the fish now before it's getting cold…"

What a typical thing for him to say, she mused when she sat down. His biggest fear was appearing mushy or sentimental…

The fish was fabulous, and so were the potatoes and the vegetables. She kept looking around in the room, absolutely stunned by all the efforts he had made. It must have taken him a while to get it all decorated… and it was only for tonight, that much was clear. Considering that he'd never been a party animal, this was very special.

They talked about all sorts of things – she told him she'd be in Hammersmith from Monday on and asked if he knew anybody there, but he couldn't think of anyone. "However, that doesn't mean anything. It might well be that I do know someone there without being aware of it. I know a few names, but have no personal contact to anyone there, I think. Well, hopefully, it will be a better experience than Barnet was!" he said.

She laughed and replied "Pretty much anything would be a better experience than Barnet – but then again, that's unfair. The team was actually quite nice – it was DI Henderson who was the problem. And if Barnet hadn't been such rubbish, I would never have got transferred to Islington – so in the end, it turned out pretty well, I think!"

Richard told her a bit about the cases they were on, and she listened and then made a few comments that would perhaps be helpful. One aspect actually piqued Richard's interest, and he made "Hmmm… that's a very valid point. I'll have to see Fryer or Harrison about that on Monday… maybe it's a point where we'd have to dig deeper…"

With a pang of melancholy, he realised how much he missed discussing cases with Camille. They had complemented each other nicely. Her approach to cases still was very intuitive, and although she sometimes jumped to conclusions because she didn't pay attention to the less blatant details, she was a valuable discussion partner... He had never had a better one.

Obviously, this was a sentiment that she shared - she sighed and said "I miss that… our discussions, I mean. You always challenged me – and I really had to try hard to convince you of my point sometimes. It was sometimes really annoying, but overall I so enjoyed that."

"So, it was different with Goodman?" he asked curiously. "Yes, it was," she said, "and honestly, overall, our cooperation was easier in that respect – he didn't really call anything in question, whatever I said. But I wasn't always right, of course, and we sometimes ended up in a dead end because of how he never had a serious doubt. It also got a bit boring in the long run. You know, you gave my brain a good workout and taught me to look at things from a different side! I like a lively discussion where sparks fly – pretty much impossible with Humphrey… He always was amiable and polite – and really bland. It got a bit dull after a while. He's a brilliant detective, but not very methodical, and – oh well. I may have complained about your occasional thoughtlessness and sometimes rude behaviour, but being with you definitely never was a snooze fest."

He gave her a crooked smile and said "My, that's quite the praise, I suppose!"

Then, as an afterthought, he asked "Do you ever hear from the team?"

She shook her head and said "No, not really. I hear more from my friends in France than from people on Saint Marie. Fidel e-mails sometimes, but of course he's on St. Lucia now, so… Well, Dwayne never was one to keep in touch – you know how he is the 'out of sight, out of mind' type – his life is on Saint Marie, and if you don't happen to be there – tough luck. I exchanged one or two e-mails with Florence, my successor, but that's it. I don't know the new constable that they have – he lives in my room now, did I tell you? Maman let him have my room in the house because he had nowhere to stay. Anyway, I have to say it might be better not hearing from them – it would perhaps make me feel more homesick. Usually, I have no time for that. Maman keeps me up to date regarding the chit-chat and the gossip on the island, and that's it. Of course, I sometimes e-mail the Commissioner – to tell him about my progress in the course and all that, but it's all fairly loose."

"So, you're not homesick?" he wanted to know. She gave him a very small smile and shrugged. "Sometimes I am," she admitted, "and when it hits me, it can get quite painful. But what can you do?"

He knew what she meant – he had been there, too, when he had stayed on Saint Marie.

He didn't say anything, though – he saw that her eyes went a little dewy, and she obviously didn't want to talk about it, so he got up and took away the plates. In the kitchen, he piled up everything in the sink, then took out two dessert bowls and began preparing the final course.

He had decided on something fairly easy for dessert and brought in vanilla ice cream with hot cherry sauce – he apologised for the 'lack of finesse', as he called it, but as it was, preparing the other dishes had been quite time-consuming already, and so dessert had to be something uncomplicated…

She interrupted him mid-sentence and said "Stop it, Richard – this is lovely, and I don't want you to think you have to apologise! I'm absolutely amazed with what you've done tonight – what makes you think it's not good enough?"

He smiled a little self-consciously and responded "Well, it's the first time I've ever cooked dinner for someone, so forgive me for being a little nervy!"

She couldn't help but laugh, recalling how nervous she had been when he had come to her place for dinner.

"What's so funny?" he asked, sounding a little hurt.

She replied "Nothing. I just remembered how nervous I was when you came for the housewarming dinner… I wasn't sure you'd like the aperitif I had prepared – after all it contained things you might not fancy, so it was perhaps a bit risky to serve it, anyway, and it didn't make any difference that I quite liked it… I had the jitters you wouldn't like my goulash – although I knew it should be fine… I was worried that you'd think the blancmange is too simple – although I figured you'd like the bananas in it…

" _You_ were nervous?" He asked it with incredulity.

"Well, why not?" she retorted. "I'm human, you know. I was afraid it would all end in disaster and you'd think you had wasted your time! I was very relieved when that didn't happen…"

She took the final spoonful of ice cream and then dabbed the corners of her mouth with the napkin.

Looking around in the living room again, she noticed all sorts of little things – like the fact that the balloons were all in the same yellow like the napkins, the crepe paper flowers were in a bright orange, the streamers reflected the orange and yellow, the garlands were mostly green… It was like he had bought these things with a certain 'systematics'. It looked a little like some of the gardens she knew from the Caribbean – those where people tried to follow a particular colour scheme instead of letting bushes and flowers grow the way they were. He really _was_ obsessed with details – but then again, what did it matter… She could certainly acknowledge all the effort he had put into this, and she felt he was trying to say something with this all.

As if he had read her thoughts, he explained "I'm glad that you… that you like it. I wasn't quite sure if the decoration might be over the top, but I wanted you to feel celebrated. After all, you got through another host of exams with good results – despite your doubts. And… and then…" - his voice was getting a little more insecure again now, – "it's also Valentine's Day, so… I thought… I mean, not that it's of any importance, but I felt… I felt we should acknowledge that somehow…"

"Isn't Valentine's Day usually associated rather with hearts than with flowers? Or am I missing something there?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

He blushed and said vehemently "Well, anyone can come up with hearts for Valentine's Day. What does it mean any more if everyone does the same thing? Doesn't that imply that something is arbitrary and exchangeable? I wanted something I can relate to, and when I think of you, I think of exotic, fragrant flowers, of tasty fruits, of bright sunshine, of – oh, of all sorts of things! So, I chose flowers because they are different, and they… they kind of seemed to fit. And I wanted you to feel transported back to Saint Marie where it's sunny, where people eat seafood – yes, I know, plaice aren't seafood as you know it, but you get the idea - and where… and where we first got to know each other and where – oh well…"

His voice broke off, and he got up abruptly, collecting the dessert bowls and taking them back to the kitchen. When he put them in the sink where the other dishes were already sitting, he closed his eyes, leant his forehead against the wall unit where the glasses were stored and wondered if he was ever going to muster up the courage to say what he wanted to say. Ending his sentence with "… and where I first fell in love with you" had suddenly seemed impossible – although that had been what had almost fallen from his lips. Of course, he had fallen even deeper in love with her after they had reconnected here, but that was a different story. The origins of their relationship lay on Saint Marie.

Camille had followed him and watched him standing there - obviously he was at a loss with something… She had a feeling that she knew what it was – and maybe she could help him to say what he wanted to say… she just had to find the right way to prompt him… It was amazing that a man with his intelligence and knowledge of all sorts of things was so broken when it came to talking about (positive) emotions.

He hadn't noticed her and heaved a big sigh. Suddenly, he felt her hand on his shoulder and she said very softly "You know what, Richard – that was the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me… and this entire evening has been… wonderful… and I'm totally stunned."

He turned around, feeling strangely comforted by her words and grateful for her presence, and took her in his arms. It seemed that she understood his dilemma – although she didn't say so, he realised that she wanted to reassure him that she wasn't demanding anything from him at this point. He hadn't ruined it with his tongue-tied awkwardness, and she wasn't angry with him for being so clumsy… and maybe, just maybe, he'd come out with what he wanted to say some time later…

Actually, she made it entirely clear that they had lots of time, and the evening wasn't over yet. She pressed herself against him and whispered "Mind you, I just had dessert, but I'm still somewhat hungry… not for food, though… Let's go upstairs and move on to the final course… dessert after dessert…"

He leant in to kiss her, and his worries were forgotten when she pulled him closer and her lips opened under his. By now, he was familiar with the desire that washed over him and her reaction to it, but it still was exciting and amazing that she would want to be with him…

He might not be able to say it yet, but he sincerely hoped she _understood_ that he loved her when he let his hands slip under her top to caress her tenderly…


	18. Weekend Fun

Chapter 18 – Weekend Fun

In the end it wasn't so difficult, and Richard was surprised at how easily he had said it…

They had left the dishes in the sink, switched off the lights everywhere and climbed the stairs to the upper floor together, hand in hand. When they had arrived in the bedroom, Camille had whispered "Close your eyes, Richard… please…"

Obediently, he had done as she'd asked – by now he had known that she'd had something special in store for him, and he hadn't wanted to spoil the atmosphere by asking too much – although he had been a little nervous. So far, her surprises had never disappointed him…

They had remained standing, and he had wondered what would happen now… She had remained silent, then he had felt her flat palms on his chest for a moment… She had unbuttoned his shirt and discarded it, then her hands had come under his T-shirt, sliding over his torso before she had grabbed the hem and helped him to get out of the garment. His breath had hitched when he had felt her hands ghosting over his bare shoulders, his chest, along his flanks, his stomach…

All his other senses seemed to be heightened because of his closed eyes, and her touch, light as a feather, had been nearly too much for him to bear. He had almost wanted to grab her hands to stop her from teasing him, but then again – it had felt too good, and he hadn't wanted it to stop!

Then she had given him a tiny little push so he had fallen on the bed – before he had known it, she had been by his side… her hand had been in his hair for a moment, and she had reminded him softly to keep his eyes closed.

Deftly, she had opened his belt, and in between dotting little butterfly kisses all over his body, she had slowly, teasingly helped him to get rid of his trousers and underpants. For a moment, he had lay there, utterly exposed to her in his desire, asking himself what she might think now. Well, she wasn't unfamiliar with this sight any more at this point, but still…

She hadn't left him in doubt – her lips and her tongue had been there to caress him, and she had whispered hoarsely "Mind you, Richard… you have no idea how handsome you are…" – then, she had added in an admonitory tone "… but don't forget to keep your eyes shut!"

He had felt her hot breath in his groin area and his body's excited reaction… but still, he had waited for further instructions, forcing himself not to open his eyes. Suddenly, he had heard the soft rustling of material, and he had felt her moving… An instant later, he had felt her naked body on his – she had got rid of her clothes and come to lie on top of him, pressing herself against him, kissing him and driving him insane with the soft swivelling movements of her hips.

His arms had encircled her and they had rolled over so he had got on top. He had pulled away for a moment, finally opening his eyes, so he could look into her face. "Am I allowed to look at you now?" he had asked huskily.

"Anything you fancy…" she had replied with a sultry smile and added "… but I suppose I'll give you something to look at then… if that's what you want…" – and with that, they had rolled over once more so she had been on top again. She had sat up, straddling him, a lustful gleam in her eyes, and he had stroked the soft skin of her legs and then moved up to take a little detour to the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs. He had felt the dampness of her curls, and his fingers had probed deeper, eliciting a long, soft keening sound from her… until she had shifted a little, moving away from him.

He had understood that she'd want a longer build up, and so he had reluctantly moved his hands away to palm her beautiful firm derriere for a moment and then moved up to caress her sides – not without brushing the peaks of her breasts with his thumbs - before pulling her down again so he could kiss her.

And that had only been the beginning… They had indulged in a drawn-out, playful overture to a very passionate and all-consuming union. They had taken their time - it had been slow, yet ardent, and they had savoured every second of it… There had been sighs, moans and soft keens, mixed with incoherent fragments of words or half-sentences, and there had been silence, interrupted by gasps, pants and cries… all culminating in a noisy finale when they had reached their climax together

And when Camille had rested her head on his shoulder and snuggled up to him afterwards, he hadn't been able to keep the words inside any longer.

"I love you, Camille," he had said.

And her answer had been "I know… and I love you, too, Richard…" – with that, she had let her hand slide gently over his chest. There was silence for a moment before she added "I had hoped you'd say it one day. Not that your actions hadn't spoken volumes already, and that's what counts… Plus you did say that you don't want me to leave… but still… it's reassuring to actually _hear_ the words…"

"Hmmm. I was afraid I'd make a mess of it. And I thought of all the times I had misinterpreted people's behaviour… and I got worried…"

She had raised her eyes to him and asked incredulously "What on earth is there to misinterpret about my behaviour in this instance? Isn't it entirely clear that I spend time with you because you are important to me? And I suppose it's obvious that I wouldn't be in this bed with you if I didn't want it… I won't dash off with the next best man, you know… but…" - she had paused for a moment before continuing in a softer voice - "I know what you mean, I didn't have the courage to say it, either… although I was fairly confident that you wouldn't mind…"

With a sigh, he had responded "Oh, Camille… I don't really put much trust in my own observations any more when it comes to these things, you know… And to be honest, I would have been scared out of my wits if you had said it too early… "

After that, he had pulled her closer, and they had not talked any more until they had both fallen asleep.

* * *

When Camille came down into the kitchen at around 9 in the morning, Richard was already busy putting away the dishes from their dinner the night before. "Oh," she said "you should have waited until I was up – we could have done them together…"

"Good morning," he said with his typical half smile, looking over his shoulder as he was stowing away the dessert bowls in one of the cabinets. Then he turned around to kiss her – and when they managed to let go of each other, he said "There wasn't enough time. I've booked a car and have to pick it up in about an hour, so it's breakfast now, and then we're off for the remainder of the weekend. I've already packed my stuff, and your bag hasn't been touched – except for what you took out for showering and all that – so we have enough time for our toast and whatever else you'd like to have…"

"Oh… where are we going?" she asked curiously as she helped him carry the plates and the other utensils into the dining area of the living room. She had completely forgotten about _that_ part of the surprise – the other part was still there… he hadn't taken the decorations down, so it still slightly resembled a jungle.

"Want a boiled egg?" he asked, and she nodded. "That would be nice – thanks. But again, Richard, where are we going?"

"I'll be right back…" He disappeared in the kitchen again, and Camille followed him, getting a little annoyed now – although she was also amused with his attempts to distract her.

He put on the water for the eggs and then turned around to face her. A nervous look was in his eyes when he finally replied "I'll tell you after breakfast, I promise. I just want to get something else… done… before I tell you, okay?"

"Curious and curiouser…" She raised her eyebrows and shook her head in mock disapproval, but when she saw his anxious look, she smiled and said "Fine. I take your word that it'll be worth my time…"

She returned to the table, and Richard brought the eggs a little later, stored in a little basket that his mother had given him when he had moved into this house. He took out his egg rightaway to eat it before anything else, so the basket sat next to Camille's plate while they chatted about this and that during breakfast. When Camille lifted the lid of the basket to take out her egg, she saw that something else was 'nestling' inside – a little black pouch was sitting next to the egg. She shot a furtive, slightly inquiring glance over to Richard who tried to appear completely unruffled and oblivious, but actually watched her apprehensively… The suspense was killing him, but he remained quiet.

For a moment, Camille was tempted to leave him hanging, but then curiosity got the better of her, and she exclaimed – seemingly totally taken aback – "Oh, what's this – look, Richard, there's something hidden in your egg basket… Do you think it's something dangerous?"

He pursed his lips in a mix of relief and amusement about her approach to the mysterious little pouch. Gravely, he said "I'm afraid you'll have to see for yourself, Camille. If it _is_ dangerous, I'm quite useless – you know how scared I am of things that could pounce on me…"

There was open glee in her eyes now – he was silly, and she loved it! She took out the pouch – now she saw that it wasn't entirely black – there was a light golden pattern printed on it, and the drawstrings were golden, too. She fingered the pouch, trying to guess the contents, but to no avail.

"I'm afraid you'll have to open it," Richard said earnestly, "but please, be careful…"

She gave him an impish grin and drew the strings open, then turned the pouch upside down, holding her hand under the opening.

Three items fell out… and with an awestruck expression on her face, Camille realised it was a golden necklace with a pendant, along with matching earrings. She pushed her plate to the side and laid everything out on the dark red placemat in front of her… a pretty golden chain with a flower-shaped pendant and golden earrings in the same floral design… She took the necklace into her hand and let the pendant dangle in front of her eyes, admiring the delicate work, then she put it down again and looked up to Richard who was sitting opposite to her, watching her eagerly…

"Frangipani!" she said, a mix of delight and disbelief in her voice. "Frangipani – where on earth did you get this, Richard? This is lovely – or rather, these are lovely… I haven't seen anything like this around here before, so…"

He cleared his throat and explained "I got them… I got them in a special jewelry shop – quite coincidentally… and originally, I was intrigued by something else I saw in their shop window, but when I went inside, this caught my eye, and well, there we are… They… they reminded me of Saint Marie, and I thought… I thought this way you can always carry a little piece of home with you… The shop owner's wife apparently is Sri Lankan, and he said that it was her who came up with the design. He told me she was – she was homesick and wanted to create something that reminded her of her country, and she's much into flowers and such… Since plumeria apparently is very common over there, she decided to create something that involved this flower. Also, the owner told me that frangipani is associated with worship in Sri Lanka… And it's also featured in Swahili love poems… in Kenya and other East African countries." Then, after a short pause, he explained conscientiously "I have read up _that_ part, but the shop owner told me all the other things…"

Camille gazed at him in astonishment as he came up with his little lecture. Finally, she spoke again, her voice thick with emotion "And you… and you got this especially for me?"

He got up and came over to her, taking the chain from her hand and saying tenderly "Well, yes. It wouldn't look half as good on me, you know… and I don't have my ears pierced, so that would make it hard for me to wear the complete set, anyway…" He added "Originally, I had wanted to give you all this yesterday evening after dinner… but somehow I got distracted, and then I feel asleep, so…" He didn't finish his sentence.

She couldn't help but smile at his words, then she asked "Would you help me putting on the necklace?" He did as requested, and she put on the earrings as well. Before he knew what she was up to, she had got up and cupped his face with her hands. "Thank you so much, Richard," she whispered, and then she planted a light kiss on his lips –it turned into a more passionate one very quickly, though. When they broke for air, she whispered "You know what, Richard – I never would have thought I'd say that to you one day, but you sometimes do the most surprising and unpredictable things…"

Then she added "Which reminds me… I've been a good girl, so will you tell me now where we are going after breakfast?"

He smiled and replied "You haven't eaten your egg yet… But I'll tell you anyway, if you promise you're not going to run and hide… We're going to see my parents in Gloucestershire."

He saw the surprise on her face and hastened to explain how his mother had called him and it had just seemed like a good idea to him.

She asked "And do they know that I'm coming?"

He shook his head and replied "Well, I couldn't say you're coming when I hadn't asked you – and I didn't want to ask you before I had… before I had made it clear how… how I feel about you… so… yeah, I guess they'll be a little surprised… But my mum has kept asking me about Saint Marie and if I ever heard from you, blah, blah, blah, so I think she will be happy to see you and talk your head off in the process of showing you how pleased she is, and my father… well, you know what he's like, so…"

A dimple appeared in her cheek when she smiled and replied softly "Oh yes, I know what he's like… demonstratively un-emotional and taciturn… like his son before he started to unbend and discover that life is more than going to work and living by the book…"

* * *

When they returned on Sunday evening, they both were somewhat knackered. It had been a marvellous weekend – but also a little tiring. Needless to say, Jennifer and Graham Poole had been rather surprised (albeit excited) to see Camille – they hadn't expected their son to take her (or anybody else!) along without letting them know in advance.

Against all odds, Jennifer had managed to keep her mouth shut about her communication with Catherine who had mentioned that apparently Richard and Camille had met again through work, but weren't more than just good friends at the moment… she had known that it wouldn't go down too well - neither with Camille, nor with Richard - if she had disclosed that she and Catherine had been speculating about their relationship status.

Camille had not revealed to her mother that she had spent Christmas at Richard's house – she had mentioned that her trip to France hadn't happened, but had Catherine deliberately let believe that she had been 'with friends' over the holidays. However, she had mentioned that she and Richard had seen in the New Year together – without going into detail about it, either. Catherine knew very well that Camille wouldn't answer any questions at this point – when she was behaving like that, it meant that something was in limbo and she didn't want to talk about it. So she hadn't been able to give Jennifer any detailed information.

She only had said in an e-mail that apparently Camille wanted to take up the thread and see how Richard would respond to her attempt to make a pass at him, but so far, she hadn't reported about any successes. She had also said, though, that Camille had a mind of her own and wouldn't inform her about every little thing that would happen – she'd much rather sort it all out and come up with the result then. So, for the moment, all seemed to be up in the air.

It was a relief for Jennifer to realise that her son had got his act together and finally admitted to himself that he had indeed feelings for Camille. During her stay on Saint Marie, she had been preoccupied with her own issues, but she _had_ noticed that Richard had sometimes looked at his DS in a decidedly unprofessional manner. It hadn't been too obvious, and Camille perhaps hadn't realised it, but Jennifer knew her son, and she had understood his dilemma. He wasn't used to 'having feelings' and expressing them – apart from negative ones – and it had been totally clear to her that he would never allow himself to 'fall for someone'. That wasn't part of his hard-wired programme – which was mostly based on a mix of bad experiences and fear of being ridiculed and let down. And Richard was so stubborn… he'd never give in. He'd never admit that someone had got under his skin…

So, when he had returned to the UK, Jennifer had been sad to see that Richard's life apparently hadn't changed one bit – it had been like he had remained the same person, unchanged and unaltered… Only after a while she had seen the little things that had become different – but she hadn't been convinced that this would be enough for him to turn his life around. And maybe he actually liked his life the way it was? He was such a wonderful man in many respects, and she was terribly proud of him, but his social ineptitude and awkwardness really were awful – and they would always stand in his way. And which woman would have the patience to overcome the obstacles and fences he had put up?

Well, Camille obviously had it. Jennifer had never got behind what had happened between her and Richard, but he had only given her one-syllable-answers when she had asked him about his team and if he ever heard from them, so she had finally stopped asking and buried all hopes. When Catherine had updated her on Camille's decision to come to the UK, these hopes had resurfaced, and it had driven her batty that he had never talked about it. She had felt so helpless… She knew very well that Richard had drawn all sorts of strings to make Graham come over to Saint Marie after her sudden departure from the UK, and she was incredibly grateful for his efforts – she would have loved to help him out of his misery now – but there was no way she could do that.

So, the relief that finally something had happened was beyond words.

Graham hadn't said anything about Jennifer's and Catherine's communication, either. It was none of his business. He knew that they talked about all kinds of things, and their offspring was only one of many topics.

He hadn't known for sure how Richard felt about Camille, and he felt that unless there was an acute crisis, he should keep out of his son's life, anyway. He was grateful that Richard had stepped in and made him fly over to Saint Marie by concocting a scheme together with Selwyn Patterson, but he knew that Richard would never forgive him if he made a move – and it had turned out to be the wrong one… No, no – he'd rather wait and see. If some sort of crisis came up, it would be different, but given the circumstance that Richard seemed quite content with his life, meddling would be wrong.

Still, he was relieved to see that Richard appeared to be happier now and that he had indeed got together with Camille… who was a lovely woman, for that matter… A little too feisty and resolute, maybe, but well, if Richard didn't mind, who was he to object? Actually, perhaps that was just what he needed – he would be bored with someone meek and demure.

Of course, neither Camille nor Richard were aware of all these thoughts and feelings, so they had been pleasantly surprised by how accepting and un-agitated his parents had acted when they had showed up together, and as long as Camille and Richard had acted like good friends around each other without really displaying more than 'general' affection for one another, all had gone fine.

However, it had got a little awkward when Richard's mother had asked if Richard wanted to sleep on the couch in the living room so that Camille could have the guestroom to herself – they had exchanged an uneasy glance, not quite sure what to say… and Jennifer had smiled inwardly, wondering how much they would admit and how they'd handle this…

Camille had taken a deep breath, but before she had been able to say something, Richard had replied matter-of-factly "Thank you, Mother, but I don't think that's necessary. Camille and I certainly know each other well enough for sharing the guestroom."

Graham had just raised his eyebrows, but Jennifer hadn't been able to suppress a delighted smile when she had said "Well, then… I just hope you won't find the sofa bed too inconvenient… it's a little on the narrow side…"

But it had turned out to be fine – Camille had actually enjoyed being cuddled up to Richard like this – and he hadn't complained, either…

Another awkward moment had come when they had been at Rodmarton Manor near Cirencester and sat down to have tea and cake before going home…

Before going to the manor, they had also had a look at the town of Cirencester – driving there had been a bit trying as the streets were somewhat confusing. Camille had been in awe with Richard's driving and orientation skills – the fiendish one-way system had been bad enough to drive a saint to distraction, and for a moment, she had wondered if the town had anything to hide – they made it so difficult to get in that you couldn't help but get unnerved, scratch your head and ask yourself if there was a hidden agenda. But the little tour that Richard and his parents gave her made up for the confusing and apparently random drive around town – Cirencester actually had a lot to offer, and Camille particularly had enjoyed exploring the old and majestic cathedral.

Rodmarton Manor had been fun, too… They had seen the gardens (and fortunately, the weather had been cooperative, so they had been able to admire the snow drops in their full glory) and toured the house, and since many of the signs had been not only in English but also in other languages, Richard's mother had taken this as an inducement to ask Camille if she was teaching Richard some French. Richard had choked on his tea, and he had felt the blood rising in his cheeks when he thought of the French words he had learnt from Camille so far (not to mention other things that the French apparently did when they were in love with someone!)… They were all more or less bedroom-related, and some of them were clearly not suitable for the public. His dad had to give him a thump on the back, and when Camille had turned to him to give him a napkin and ask if he was okay she had seen the desperate look in his eyes and realised that they had obviously thought of the same thing… so she had to suppress a giggle…

Jennifer Poole hadn't known what had been so funny about her question, but Camille had saved the situation by saying "Oh, Jennifer – you know he's never been into French in whatever context, but I've insisted on teaching him a little, and he's trying hard, although he seems to find it a little challenging sometimes… I'm pleased to say that overall he's making good progress… and although he'd surely never admit it, I'm quite certain that he actually enjoys it…"

A cheeky glance in Richard's direction had made him turn beetroot again, and he had said pompously "Really, Camille, I have no idea what you're talking about…"

His mother had looked curiously from Camille's face to Richard's, and although she hadn't quite got the underlying meaning of it all, she had the feeling that they were having fun at her expense…

Ah well, never mind. She was too happy to feel piqued.

* * *

When they arrived in front of Camille's place, Richard parked the car and said "It's a shame, but I think our weekend is coming to an end now…"

Camille nodded and replied "Yes, I think so, too - unless, of course, you want to have dinner here with me. I mean, it's a bit pointless if you go home now and we both eat at our respective place – I have enough here for the two of us, and I can stock up on my supplies tomorrow… Hammersmith should have some shops, and if not, I certainly know my way around here by now, too!"

That sounded sensible to Richard, and so they went upstairs to spend a cosy evening at Camille's place. When they snuggled up together on the couch after dinner, Camille suddenly began to laugh at the memory of Richard's face earlier today, and when he asked what was so funny, she explained – and he joined her laughter.

"Boy, I thought I'd die from embarrassment – I don't think I'd want my parents to know just what kind of words exactly you have taught me… I couldn't possibly say them to anybody but you, anyway!"

Actually, he still didn't say them aloud but only dared whispering them in her ear… And everything else Camille had taught him on bedroom activities had been a revelation to him – he had known about some of them in theory, but he had never expected to get close enough to someone so he might try them. Some things had seemed a bit far-fetched to him, and he had wondered if they were really as enjoyable as people claimed – or if it was all just exaggerated and enormously inflated. Camille had shown him that there were no limits as long as they both enjoyed what they were doing.

He sobered and concluded "Seriously… it's not the kind of topic I'd wish to discuss with anybody, let alone my parents…"

Obviously, Camille's relationship with her mother was different, and she said as much to Richard. "She always wanted me to know about these things… about the joy as well as about the risk that can lie in all the implications of relationships. Not that you can foresee the future, and of course, we all have to make our own experiences, but she has always made it clear that if something doesn't feel right to me, I shouldn't go for it – and that has been a very valuable piece of advice, not only in regard to physical matters, but generally spoken as well…"

Richard took a sip of wine and mused "Hmmm. Those are wise words… I can't say anybody ever gave me advice on that topic - which is probably why I'm so hopelessly clueless about the whole thing… But I'm learning now, I guess…"

"Oh yes, you are, indeed," Camille replied warmly, gently ruffling his hair. Then she added thoughtfully "Though… you surely know that only practice makes perfect…"

He put his wine glass back on the couch table and pulled her towards him, letting his hands slide down her sides to her waist and whispering "You mean you're willing to give me another lesson, some kind of compensation for not doing so last night?"

She shrugged, feigning indifference, and said "Well, I could - if you'd like me to…"

His face came closer, and just before his lips met hers, he whispered "Very much so, Camille, very much so…"


	19. Reactions, Responses and Regrets

Chapter 19 – Reactions, Responses and Regrets

Catherine wondered if she had time enough to check her e-mails - a quick glance at the clock on the kitchen wall showed her that she had twenty more minutes before she would have to leave the house. It was the weekend after Valentine's Day, and she wondered if Camille might have news for her. She had read between the lines of her daughter's e-mails that she and Richard were an 'item' now, although Camille hadn't given her any details. Basically, she had mentioned Richard regularly in her messages now – she had said they had spent New Year's Eve together, but Catherine didn't know if they had been alone or if they had been out with other people, maybe in a public place… and she had talked about going for walks with him.

That was all good and well, but Catherine was dying to know how far their relationship had developed by now. However… it was none of her business, and she was well aware of that, so she didn't really dare asking any questions. Camille was old enough to run her own life, and if she wanted to be with Richard, that was fine with her mother.

Catherine had not really expected that anything would come out of a re-encounter between Camille and Richard, but she had figured that Camille needed closure, and for that, it was essential that these two met again. Catherine knew only too well how you could idolise someone who was far away, and she felt that Camille hadn't been free since Richard's sudden departure from Saint Marie. And surely, Richard would also need clarity – so for Catherine, it had always been a 'no-brainer' that they should get together if the opportunity came up.

Apparently, Richard had understood that he had only one life… during his time on Saint Marie, Catherine had sometimes had the impression that he was living his life like he was 'on hold', sitting on the fence, hoping that it would get better if he just waited for long enough. He had never seemed happy with anything – life to him apparently was only a series of inconveniences. There had been times when she – and Camille, too! – had wanted to reform him, but eventually they had given up – you couldn't force anyone to live their life differently. People only changed their life if they really wanted to.

From what Camille had mentioned, though, Richard _had_ changed to a certain extent since he had moved back to the UK. It seemed like the penny had finally dropped and he had become more active, not only physically, but also in other aspects. Camille had talked about them spending time outdoors, about visiting museums, about sightseeing – and in passing, she had mentioned that Richard was fitter now than he had been on Saint Marie because he got more exercise. Catherine had already heard from Jennifer that Richard had made a few changes, but she had figured that her friend was maybe only seeing what she wanted to see – so it had been interesting to hear Camille saying the same thing. According to Camille, he was still _very_ much the same in some respects – but rather different in others. That sounded intriguing – and promising.

When she opened her e-mail client, she saw that there were two new messages – one from Camille and one from Jennifer. She wondered if this was only coincidental…

Curiously, she opened Camille's message. The first thing she saw was a photo of golden jewelry – she clicked on it to enlarge the picture, and she saw a set of a necklace and matching earrings… the pendant and the earrings were perfectly shaped frangipani flowers with tiny diamonds in the centre. Now, what was that? In a hurry, she began to read, and her eyes widened when she realised that Richard had given Camille this set for Valentine's Day and that they had spent 'the most wonderful weekend' together.

Wow – that was much more than Catherine would have expected – and the jewelry wasn't only extraordinarily beautiful, it surely had been quite expensive, too. If Richard spent so much money on a Valentine's gift for Camille, she must mean a lot to him… and he was finally ready to show his affection. Catherine had often been annoyed with Richard's seemingly misanthropic attitude, and he could be rather stingy, too – so the fact that he splurged on jewelry for Camille was remarkable! It certainly indicated that he was ready to make some sort of commitment…

Hastily, she continued to read her daughter's message. Camille wrote 'We visited Richard's parents who have relocated to Gloucestershire a while ago. I was a little nervous, but they seemed quite happy to see me, and I think we are now somewhat officially an 'established couple'. I've met his parents, after all (well, I knew them before, obviously, but it's different now – you know what I mean!)… It's hard to believe that things have panned out like this. I know you might not have had _this_ in mind when you urged me to try and find Richard so I'd get closure. I can admit now that I had wanted to see him again – but only after I had finished my course. I hadn't expected we'd bump into one another so soon after my course started, and I was quite shaken and upset when it happened, but now I'm so glad that it all turned out like this, and I think it might have been destiny or fate or whatever intervening… Of course, Richard will have none of that. He says it was just a very happy coincidence… but I'm not so sure!"

Catherine smiled to herself. Camille sounded really perfectly happy… She went on for a bit longer, explaining that things had developed into this direction since around November, but that she hadn't said anything because she had not wanted to spill the beans while everything had been 'fresh, raw and uncertain'. She wrote "You know how we have always been attracted to one another, but of course, mutual attraction isn't enough to make things work. We had to sort ourselves out and find out what we really wanted, and as long as that hadn't happened, I thought it was wiser not to say anything. I know you will understand…"

And yes, Catherine understood, indeed!

Still smiling, she opened Jennifer's e-mail… she had an idea of what Richard's mother might have written.

And sure enough, Jennifer's e-mail was about Richard's and Camille's visit. Catherine couldn't help but laugh out loud when she read the beginning of her friend's message…

Jennifer wrote "You know what, Richard came to visit us over the weekend, and he brought a surprise guest – _Camille_ was with him. I felt like I was Katharine Hepburn in 'Guess who's coming for dinner' – in a good way, though, and without all the bittersweet feelings and the worries that are so prevalent in the film! I have absolutely no doubts that these two will be happy together. Camille knows _exactly_ how to take him, and he has loosened up somewhat under her influence, I think. Of course, initially, Richard was his usual slightly pompous self – you know that I love him to bits, but he does have this air about him sometimes… particularly when he's insecure. I think he wasn't quite sure how we would react. I didn't let on that I knew that Camille was in the UK – it seemed sensible not to tell them. Richard doesn't know about our correspondence, and from what you said, Camille isn't aware of it, either, so I didn't want to give them the impression that we were weaving a plot against them… They are so very sweet together – not like turtle doves, but like great friends who know each other well. Actually, I wasn't sure at first how far their relationship has developed, so I came up with asking if Richard wanted to have the sofa in the living room so Camille could have the guestroom. He said then that they 'know each other well enough for sharing the guestroom', so it seems they are quite serious. And their behaviour indicates the same – it's not 'casual' or non-committal. Of course, Richard isn't very demonstrative in his affection, but it's obvious that they are in love, and I'm really, really happy for them. And for myself – you know how I've been feeling about Richard being so lonely… Graham is pretty excited, too. He thinks Camille is a little too straightforward sometimes, but he says that this might be precisely what Richard needs."

Catherine giggled. Graham had a point here. It had always been fun to see Camille and Richard interact – they had a secret code with one another without even being aware of it. Catherine remembered how Camille had missed Richard when he had gone to London to escort Vicky Woodward – she had been horribly moody during that week – and unbelievably excited about his return. Her demonstrative aloofness when he was due to return had not deceived Catherine for one moment…

It had never been like that with Humphrey. For a while, Catherine had thought Camille _might_ become interested in the new inspector, but that didn't happen – she had never forgotten Richard. And actually, Catherine was glad about Camille's lack of romantic interest in Humphrey now – since her departure, a few things had happened that had cemented her personal conviction that a relationship between these two would never have worked out. Humphrey simply was _too_ erratic, _too_ eager to please, _too_ nice. Camille would have been bored out of her wits with him in the long run, and her patience would have run out quickly. Clearly, Richard had been difficult, too – he had been so keen on being independent and self-sufficient… on showing that he didn't need anyone… he had had a tendency to keep people at arm's length and rebuff them if they had tried to get closer, but little by little, he had let Camille in – and it seemed that they didn't have these issues any longer now.

As it was, Humphrey had recently caused quite a stir on Saint Marie – or rather, his father had caused a stir by trying to make his son return to the UK to save his marriage. It had been quite interesting to see Goodman senior and Humphrey together – they had come across quite differently. In contrast to Richard and his father who clearly had _some_ key features and characteristics in common, Humphrey and Martin Goodman were rather dissimilar. Humphrey was a very sociable man while Martin Goodman had come across as somewhat haughty, and he had decidedly felt that his son was wasting his time here on Saint Marie. His attitude had changed towards the end of his stay, but it had still been obvious that these two men didn't have much in common.

Catherine had wondered sometimes if all families were dysfunctional in one way or another. Humphrey clearly had issues with his father – she hadn't met his mother, so she didn't know much about his relationship with her, and he hadn't mentioned her much. He had, however, talked about his brothers and how he had always been the odd one out, the underdog, the bullied one… So, he hadn't been an overly happy child, from what Catherine had gathered. And Richard and his parents weren't overly close, either – they loved each other – in their own awkward way -, that much was obvious, but there was a distance and reservedness between them – emotionally – that Catherine had seen with some sadness and concern.

It had made her wonder if Richard was capable of showing love at all… she had been very worried for Camille when she had realised that her feelings for Richard were going so deep. Camille could take a lot of things, but she couldn't take loveless behaviour. It seemed, however, that Richard had learnt to express himself a little better – according to Camille, he still was reserved, and he could be quite the cynic, but he made efforts to loosen up, and they obviously had found a way to communicate that Camille found satisfying.

Her thoughts returned to parents-children-relationships… She had had a bit of a complicated relationship with her parents, too – they had found it very hard to accept that she hadn't returned to France, but stayed in the Caribbean. But in the end, they hadn't had any choice but come to terms with her decision – and honestly, it hadn't been so much about wanting her to return because they had missed her, but rather about them worrying about what their neighbours and friends thought. They had wanted to present them the picture perfect conventional family… but that hadn't happened. Catherine had chosen not to sacrifice her happiness for her parents' sake.

Her relationship with Camille was very good – they were more like friends than like mother and daughter, but of course, Catherine had been quite young when she had had Camille, and after her husband had disappeared, she and her daughter had developed an even closer bond. It had been very difficult to let her leave for France when the time had come for her to spread her wings, but she had known that Camille had to find her own way… and when she had returned to the Caribbean, Catherine had had to accept that her daughter had become a strong and independent young woman…

Their connection wasn't free of complications, but they respected one another, and Catherine felt that this was the key to their good rapport… she had seen many mother-daughter-relationships where this was different… where the mothers expected their daughters to show them respect, but didn't reciprocate accordingly. She knew that this would never work for her and Camille…

She also knew that given the current circumstances, it was rather unlikely that her daughter would return to Saint Marie. Richard had made no bones about his issues with life in the Caribbean – and Camille had already proven that she could live in Europe without suffering too much…

Of course, she would have preferred to have her daughter being on Saint Marie, but her own personal history showed that parents _had_ to let their children fly away eventually, so - who was she to interfere with Camille's wishes?

For a moment, she considered typing up a quick reply to Camille as well as to Jennifer, but then she realised that she didn't have enough time to do their messages justice, so she closed her e-mails and shut down her laptop. They'd have to wait a little for her reaction – it would be a busy day at the bar…

* * *

It was Wednesday evening, and Richard got ready for his weekly trip to Stanmore. He was curious to find out more about Camille's first few days at Hammersmith – she had told him a little about it already, but he wanted to hear more details about the team she would work with, the cases she'd have to deal with and also about the station in general. Camille had a way to make the people and the atmosphere of a place 'real' and 'alive' – her descriptions were usually precise and to the point, and Richard could listen to her for hours…

What had he done without her for so long? He looked in the mirror in his little vestibule and smoothed his hair, remembering their re-encounter in Chuck Norris's office a few months ago and of how things had developed for them since then. He hadn't expected to meet her again after he had left Saint Marie… sometimes he had fantasised about what it would be like to travel to the Caribbean and re-unite with her, but it had all been very unrealistic, as he had known only too well, and usually he had ended up frustrated with himself… It had been difficult not to be angry with himself for not having made a move at her, but at the same time he had wondered if he hadn't got it all wrong and should rather be relieved for not having taken action.

It was useless to dwell on the past, though, so he directed his thoughts down another route… He wondered what Catherine would have to say about him and Camille being a couple now. Camille had told him that she had written to her mother, explaining that they were together now, and the last time they had spoken – this morning, actually – there hadn't been a response yet. He was a little worried – did that mean that Catherine wasn't happy with the whole thing? His parents obviously had been quite pleased to see that he and Camille were an item now. Fortunately, his mother hadn't got too emotional – it still made him feel uncomfortable when people displayed their emotions too openly. And he obviously _still_ had a hard time talking about his own feelings… Camille had teased him afterwards that he had been very sedate and un-emotional when he had said that they knew each other well enough for sharing the guestroom…

But he was learning. They had joked about him getting more confident in the bedroom, but of course, this relationship was so much more. It was all about soul, about faith, about communication, trust and understanding – and while Richard was a little bewildered that something like this would happen to _him_ , he also was deeply grateful that their paths had crossed again.

The interesting thing was that while he had fallen in love with Camille on Saint Marie, his feelings had deepened and become much more intense after they had reconnected here. It had been an amazing experience – on one hand, Camille had remained the same in so many respects… but then on the other hand, she had changed in others. It had been exciting to get to know the 'new' Camille – and discover the 'old' Camille underneath.

But then again – the experiences he had made on Saint Marie had influenced his life in the UK, and he had made changes as a result, so why did it surprise him that Camille had changed to a certain extent, too?

Satisfied with his reflection, he put on his coat and left the house. It would be fun to spend a quiet evening at Camille's place. She had mentioned she'd prepare a potato casserole, and he knew it would be delicious…

But he also knew that – although he would be tempted - he would not stay for _too_ long this time…

With a chuckle, he remembered Sunday evening… It had been a big mistake to stay beyond midnight when they had returned from his parents. He had not taken into consideration that he would have to find a space for the rental car – and his street was a no parking zone. He had ended up leaving Camille's place half an hour past midnight, and of course, all the places he knew of were taken by the time he had arrived. There was a little spot next to the house that resembled a narrow driveway, but it was overgrown with shrubs and bushes – his predecessors hadn't had a car, and so they had used it as an extension of the garden. He had never made any efforts to change this as he quite liked this little wild patch. There was a paved area where he kept the bins, but other than that, you couldn't really use this 'pseudo-driveway'.

So, he had ended up driving in circles for quite a while until he had finally remembered there was a big public lot about a mile away from where he lived – and it usually wasn't full up all the time - but he'd also have to take care of his suitcase, so what to do?

Desperately, he had driven another circle until he had reached his street again, then he had stopped the car in front of his house, hauled the suitcase inside, and driven back to the public lot. There, he had driven around for a while until he had found a space – and after that he had walked home. A mile wasn't all that far, but it had been the middle of the night, and he had been tired…

At around two, he had finally been in bed – and then he had had to get up again at five to return the car in time before going to work.

Needless to say, he hadn't been a very happy camper on that Monday morning…

But it had all worked out, and although he had felt fairly miserable – physically – all day long (and he had almost fallen asleep at his desk at some point!), he hadn't regretted it. The weekend had been fun, and the finale in Camille's flat had all been worth it.

However, he had learnt his lesson. This had been the second time he had tossed reason and common sense overboard on the eve of a workday, and he would not do it again… well, at least not tonight…

* * *

Camille heard the doorbell ring and hurried to open the door for Richard. She had good news for him…

After their 'hello kiss' – that they extended quite a bit – she said a little breathlessly "What a good thing that I have already switched off the oven – otherwise, the casserole would be burnt by now!"

They both laughed, and Camille pulled away so Richard could get rid of his coat.

After they had had their dinner and cleared the table, they moved to the sitting area with their wine, and as she sat down, Camille mentioned "I had an e-mail from Maman just this afternoon…"

Richard passed her a slightly apprehensive glance and raised his eyebrows.

She got comfortable on the couch. "Don't worry," she said, noticing his concern. "She's happy for us. I don't think she expected this to happen – but that doesn't mean she's against it. She always encouraged me to go and find you so we could find clarity about what we wanted – she even said I owed it to you because the way we had parted had left both of us in limbo… not that I ever told her about those last minutes in your shack, but of course, we did talk about your unexpected transfer to the UK and how it had affected things… and she naturally sensed my disorientation and confusion afterwards, plus Fidel and Dwayne might have mentioned to her that I hadn't taken your departure very well… not only generally speaking, but also… well, literally."

"Disorientation and confusion? What on earth do you mean?" He was puzzled now. They had never spoken about this in detail, and to be honest, he had never given it another thought… now, she had him wondering, though. Yes, she had said that she had felt lost without him, that she had cried and that she had missed him – and he had acknowledged all that. But this sounded more serious… more intense…

Camille looked at him and tried to decide how much she wanted him to know. It was history, after all – wasn't it pointless to dwell on it and most probably make him feel bad? On the other hand, it might put things into perspective for him…

With a slightly crooked smile, she responded, trying to sound light-hearted "Oh, nothing – just that Fidel's shirt was totally soaked after I had cried my heart out and I had bags under my eyes for days… You might have noticed that I came running out of your house when your cab pulled away and that I waved you goodbye, but I'm fairly sure that my breakdown must have escaped you as the taxi already was gone when I stopped waving and would have collapsed if Fidel hadn't caught me in his arms so I had someone to hold on to while I was having a long and noisy weep…"

She noticed the shocked look on his face and added "I'll spare you the details of what Dwayne said. To be honest, I only got part of it, considering the state I was in, but none of what I heard was particularly friendly… And I was quite useless for the next few days as well, although I tried to gather myself together… It took me a lot of self-control to function, but of course, I had to muster it up somehow as I was in charge of the station, and life had to go on, you know…"

Richard gawped at her for a moment, swallowing hard. Then, the most surprising thing happened – instead of beginning to cringe and avoiding eye contact (as he would have done in the 'old days'), he reached out to take her hand and pulled her towards him so she came to sit on his lap.

His hand touched her cheek, brushing away a tear that she hadn't even noticed, and he said contritely "Oh, Camille… I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you had to go through all this. I know it won't be of any consolation, but I felt pretty miserable, too. All the way to the airport, on the plane, and for a long, long time after that – I felt wretched. But somehow I didn't realise that you would feel horrible, too. I had forgotten how… how fragile you could be. How selfish I was. And how selfish of me that I never asked…"

Camille gave him a little smile. Her voice was slightly unsteady when she said "Well, I was selfish, too. I only thought of my own feelings. And I'm sorry that I made you suffer. When you said you'd maybe have more peace of mind without me, I didn't really try to look behind what you meant: that you were confused and didn't quite know what to make of our… our strange relationship. I know now that I… I wasn't clear enough in sending out the right signals… I never understood that maybe you couldn't figure out what I felt for you when everybody else seemed to know about my feelings… and I didn't see that you found everything just confusing and… and disconcerting… I just thought you wanted to be rid of me because I disturbed you and your peaceful life. That… that hurt me, and I wanted you to feel unsettled then so you wouldn't forget me. I wanted to give you a lesson… but I didn't realise that I'd have to pay a price for that as well."

He stroked her hair now, and then she heard him whispering "Oh, I'm sorry that you had to go through that all… We both paid a price, Camille. You have no idea how much it cost me to try and move on – and all the time I knew I was lying to myself, pretending that I didn't miss you… I chastised myself for not being able to forget you, for hanging on to the memories, for fantasising of how things might have turned out if only… and at the same time, I knew I'd never have the courage to go back to Saint Marie and see how you would react. It all seemed so hopeless. But all is well now. Maybe… because we've experienced the pain of loss… we're more careful with one another. And maybe, it's even better now than it would have been if… if we had got together on Saint Marie."

Her lips touched his neck, and she said softly "You're right. We might have driven each other bonkers because… well, neither of us was very good at communicating their feelings. You always put up fences, and I couldn't understand why. And I… well, I kind of figured you would make a move if you were only seriously, truly, really interested. I couldn't see that you… that you were kind of caught in a trap… the trap of your own personal history and experiences that made you think that I couldn't possibly be interested in you, despite all my stroppiness and our arguments… Nobody ever drove me up the walls like you did… I might have found you annoying, but I also was utterly intrigued by you, and I wanted to know you better. You just wouldn't let me – I didn't understand because I thought you had nothing to lose from becoming friendly with me… Oh well. I'm glad now that I told you about how I felt when you left. I hadn't wanted to talk about it because I thought it was history, and it wouldn't change a thing if you knew, but well… at least we both have clarity now…"

"Yes, we have clarity," he confirmed – and then he added "And it does make a difference to know…"

With that, he put his arms around her, holding her tightly, and for long moments, they sat like this, each of them lost in thought, but also revelling in the nearness and new intimacy that their mutual confessions had brought.


	20. Paris Always is a Good Idea

Chapter 20 – Paris Always is a Good Idea

The weeks went on, and before they knew it, Camille had to start another module. Her internship in Hammersmith had been uncomplicated – she had quite enjoyed her time there. The team there had been fun to work with – although there had been one person Camille hadn't particularly liked, she had managed to get on well with everyone, and she had become friendly with Claire rather quickly. They had spent many of their lunch breaks together, chatting about their respective experiences, and every once in a while, they had also talked about private matters.

However, it hadn't taken Claire very long to notice that Camille wasn't keen on the topic of boyfriends and relationships, and since she herself was single and didn't really care that much to discuss that, either – apart from making general remarks – that suited her just fine. From Camille's occasional remarks, she knew that she had a partner, but she didn't ask for more details, and Camille didn't volunteer any information. They had more than enough things to talk about, and it didn't bother either of them that they steered clear of talking about this particular aspect of life. Claire figured that Camille would talk about it if she felt she should know, but since she didn't, she just accepted it.

Easter approached, and Isabelle and Alain renewed their invitation – they wanted Camille to come and visit them over the long weekend. When she was hesitant and didn't accept the invitation spontaneously, Isabelle sensed that it was about Richard – Camille had told her about their relationship, and it was obvious that while she wanted to come over to Paris, she also wanted to spend time with Richard… but she didn't want to make her friends feel obliged to extend the invitation to him. Isabelle solved the 'problem' by doing precisely that – she was very curious to meet Richard, anyway, and this was the perfect opportunity.

She coaxed "Come on, Camille – you know we've got the space! You've seen our guest room – it's big enough for two, although it's not particularly large! And you know we _will_ make an effort and speak English so Richard will not feel excluded – Alain has just recently mentioned that he'd need a little more practice, so I know he won't have any issues with that… Just ask Richard, and we'll take it from there!"

Camille wasn't so sure about Richard's reaction, but she promised to ask and let them know.

So, on the next Saturday, when they had got up from their mid-morning breakfast after swimming and started doing the dishes together, she brought up the topic, and just as she had expected, he wasn't particularly excited about the idea of travelling to Paris and meeting her friends. He didn't brush her off or say no immediately, but it wasn't hard to see that the thought made him uncomfortable.

Instead of blowing up or trying to persuade him – as she would perhaps have done a few years ago – she tried another, more long winded and laborious strategy this time, hoping that taking the long way would do the trick – and solve a few issues that he seemed to have – once and for all. She tilted her head to one side and said with a smile on her face "Mind you, Richard, there's nothing to be afraid of…"

He looked up from the plate he was scrubbing and asked a little warily "What makes you think I'm afraid?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," she responded. "But I know you aren't keen on changes, and that includes getting to know new people who might judge you… It doesn't bother you in your professional life as you know you're an excellent detective, and when you're on a mission to find out the truth, it's not important what people might think of you, but you're not so sure when it comes to meeting people in a more private setting…"

He sighed. She knew him all too well, and of course one didn't have to be a clairvoyant or a psycho-whiz to see that communication and people skills weren't his strongest sides.

She continued patiently "Listen, Richard, it's totally okay if you don't want to come. I'd love to show you around all the places that are dear to me – just like you have shown me places around here that you like and that mean something to you – and I'd love to introduce you to my friends so they'll get to know you and see why I'm so happy with you by my side. But if you'd rather not come, then I'll understand. However… they are my friends, and they are important to me. _You_ are the most important person in my life, but I care about my friends, too, so I want to spend time with them. I cannot halve myself, and I want to spend time with you  and with my friends in France, so the best possible option for me would be if we all get together. No man is an island, entire of itself, Richard, and there will _always_ be other people in my life, requiring attention and deserving my affection… That doesn't make my love for you any smaller or less important, you know… You understand that, don't you?"

Slightly reluctantly, he nodded. Rationally, he understood. But emotionally, he wanted to have her all to himself. He knew that this was foolish. And actually, it was beneath him – he knew _that_ , too.

Camille was well aware of his inner struggle – she hadn't chosen this particular strategy on a whim. She knew only too well that he might have rebuffed her if she had made a more direct, straightforward approach. By making him think about his own attitude and behaviour, she had a much better chance at succeeding in her mission… She was sure that he wouldn't want to see himself as being needy, possessive and petty-minded.

And really, he was none of that – he had been so generous and giving towards her over the past months, and he always made sure that she wouldn't feel she was being 'kept' when they went out and he paid the bill or when they attended some exhibit and he purchased the tickets. She had paid sometimes, too, but overall, he had silently decided that since he earned more, he'd pay more often – and after a few discussions that had got them nowhere, she had finally learnt to accept without protest – but she was far from taking his generosity for granted. She appreciated it, and she always made a point of coming up with a little treat for him in return, inviting him for tea and cake or cooking a meal for him that he particularly liked.

He had also been generous with his time – whenever she had had questions about the projects at her course, she had known she could turn to him – he would take the time to explain and give her more background information. That had been very helpful, and she was extremely grateful for his patience.

And besides all that, he had been tender and giving in their intimate encounters, too – there was nothing selfish about him in that aspect of their relationship… He always made sure she was happy and fulfilled, and his efforts to pleasure her were more than just satisfying…

But this situation was not about being generous in a financial or material context, and it wasn't about finding the time to explain something, either, or about making her feel loved… it was about emotional generosity, about being able to 'let go' and accept that - while he was on top of her priorities - she wanted to spend time with others, too.

When they had sat together after their memorable housewarming dinner, they had agreed on taking things slowly and doing things without one another, and he had been relieved that she had understood his need for solitude – but exactly there was the point: When he did things without her, he mostly pursued solitary activities – like watching a favourite TV show, reading a book or listening to music she clearly didn't enjoy. He sometimes went to panel discussions about historical, astrological or scientific topics that he found interesting, but there was usually no real interaction with others involved in these events, apart from superficial chit-chat.

Camille's activities without him were different – there were her studies, of course, and she did quite a few things on her own – like (window) shopping, going for walks, or reading - but she also socialised with people from her course or the respective team she worked with, and she maintained communication with her mother as well as with French friends via Skype and e-mail. Of course, writing e-mails was a solitary thing, but you had to focus on someone else while writing, so again – it was a form of socialising and interacting as you were engaging in a conversation.

Richard didn't mind her going for a drink with other people – it didn't take away anything from their time spent together, and he didn't feel that he was competing for her attention – when she was with him, he had her all to himself, indeed. And that was fun, it gave him the feeling of being safe and secure, of being loved and cherished… of being her one and only… and he didn't want it any other way, no matter how immature it sounded.

He knew very well that it was unfair to expect one person to fulfil one's every need – you needed different friendships, different acquaintances, different attachment figures – you couldn't really focus only on one person, that was too demanding and suffocating for the other person. He was aware of that, but being aware of something and putting it into action were different shoes, obviously. He tried hard not to be too demanding, too needy, too clinging, and it worked most of the time – he felt much safer about their relationship now than he had a few weeks back… but it was still difficult sometimes. He knew that he had a lot to learn – and that he was applying double standards as he wanted to have time to himself, too – it wasn't Camille's fault that he had no friends or acquaintances or even just 'buddies' to do things with.

Camille always had been an outgoing person, and Richard had always been somewhat introverted. They both accepted their differences – they knew that they were part of their mutal attraction.

But Richard's introversion partly was built on mistrust against others, it wasn't entirely based on self-sufficiency – as he liked to claim sometimes. Camille knew better, and he knew that, too…

So, although he wasn't too keen on going to Paris and meeting her friends, he felt that he should perhaps make an effort. After all, compromises were part of life, and he knew that if he didn't try now, she'd be disappointed, and it would bring a discord that could easily be avoided, leading to further resentment, most likely…

And it would only be a long weekend – of course, it would be a hassle to travel when so many others travelled, and it would be inconvenient in so many respects, but it would not last forever… And maybe they actually _were_ nice people – after all, they were Camille's friends, and they had kept in touch for a long time – despite the distance - so there had to be something about them. And if he and Camille stayed together – which he hoped sincerely – he would have to meet them eventually, anyway. So he might as well get it over and done with now…

So, after he had washed a coffee mug with devotion and put it on the draining board, he asked tentatively "What are they like?"

Camille took a deep breath and avoided sounding triumphant when she answered – she knew now that the first hurdle was taken, and he was at least _considering_ coming along… and she could be _very_ persuasive…

"Well, Isabelle and I met during my training all the years back in Paris, so I've known her for a long time. I'm not as close to her as I was…" – she faltered, but then continued – "as I was to Aimée… or let me rephrase this: it's a different kind of closeness, and we are good friends. She's rational and pragmatic, and she has a great sense of humour… she's quite the sniper and will come up with a funny remark when you least expect it. She still works for the police – she's in an internal department, though, coordinating national and international workshops. She's got short blond hair, and she's like a small round rubber ball, short and plump, but always dressed very elegantly. And she _loves_ shoes! Alain is tall and bulky, and he hasn't got much hair left – he says that's because living with Isabelle is so challenging! He's a historian, and he works for one of the smaller publishing houses in Paris – plus he writes articles for magazines on a – how do you call it… - on a freelance basis. I don't know exactly what kind of project he currently focuses on, but I'm sure he'd be excited to tell you more. When I visit, we usually talk about current events, and I don't know enough about history to be a valuable discussion partner, anyway, but since you graduated in history, I'm sure you'll find plenty of topics to talk about…"

She knew that this was her trump card – he hardly knew anyone with whom he could discuss history on what he called 'eye level'…

He turned his head to look at her, raised his eyebrows and said "A historian? Now, that sounds intriguing…" Then, as an afterthought, he asked "And do they speak English?"

Camille stifled a smile and responded dead seriously "Yes, of course they do. They are not entirely uncivilised, you know, albeit being French. Isabelle said that Alain would appreciate getting some more practice as it's been a while since he last spoke – although he reads quite a bit in English. And Isabelle speaks English from time to time due to her work. I can't possibly say how good they speak it – we naturally speak French together - but they are willing to make efforts. Actually, we all will speak English when you're around. You know, they are not inviting you just to make you feel like an outcast by speaking French, they want to get to know you, after all, so…"

She watched Richard putting another mug on the draining board and tackling a plate next. He was silent for a while, trying to sort his thoughts and emotions. Camille waited. Finally she asked very softly "What is it, Richard? I can see that you're worrying about something…"

He gave her a sideways glance and sighed. Then he finally came out with what bothered him.

"What… what if they actually think I'm an idiot and you're a fool for wasting your time with me?"

Good grief… she had suggested earlier on that he was afraid of people judging him, but she hadn't thought he'd admit it so openly to her. They had really come a long way since those days on Saint Marie when he had usually tried to hide his insecurities…

She put down the mug she was currently drying and hung up the dishtowel. He hadn't looked at her, but continued doing the dishes, solemnly busying himself with wiping a knife, scrubbing a fork, cleaning a spoon…

With a determined movement, she took a towel and dried her hands. Then she said softly "Richard… come on, look at me…"

He looked up, and she held out the towel to him. Hesitantly, he let go of the cutlery, lifted his hands from the sink and grabbed the towel – she didn't let go, but helped him dry his hands before she took them into hers and said gently, but resolutely "That wont happen. They will rather wonder why a bright and witty man like you will want to spend his time with a disorganised airhead like me who's irritating, who jumps to conclusions and who doesn't know how to pronounce 'Yorkshire Pudding'!"

He smiled at the memory of her standing in the doorway of his shack and inviting him to come to a feast that Catherine had prepared to celebrate because he had found Delilah Dunham's murderer… She had written the names of the dishes on her palm because she couldn't remember them – the terms hadn't meant anything to her as she hadn't had any idea about what they included. It had sounded funny and absolutely adorable how she had said 'horseradish' and 'Yorkshire Pudding' – her French accent had been irresistible…

"I doubt your friends will think of you that way…" he said, and she responded with a shrug "Well, they know me, and they know about my weaknesses. But they still like me. And you are the man I love, and so they will be curious, of course, but they will also be benevolent and ready to like you. They will make an effort and try to get to know you, and they will understand that you are nervous – because everybody would be nervous in a situation like that. So, don't be afraid, Richard. They won't bite. Be prepared for jokes about the English, and you can certainly counter them with jokes about the French, but as long as you don't take their jokes personally, all will be well…"

He gave her a little smile. She moved closer and asked "Do you know, Richard, what I thought when I saw you trying to feed your lizard cat-food that day?"

Raised eyebrows and a sigh were his initial reaction, then he replied "I'm sure you thought I had gone entirely crackers. I remember how I said that while I never knew what you thought, I'd know precisely what you were thinking then…"

She smiled and said gently "I know, and I responded that you had no idea. I'll tell you now… I thought you were perhaps the weirdest and most annoying man I had ever met, but surely also the brightest and most endearing one. You were so – forgive me, I know it's not a word that men generally like, but you were so _cute_ , spooning cat-food on those saucers, giving that wild little lizard the chance to decide what he might like best. And in the end, he didn't want any of that and stuck to fruit and bugs… but he still stayed with you. You were trying to make a friend, and I loved that…"

Another crooked smile was his response, then he said "I guess you're right… I wasn't very successful, was I… and my relationship with Harry was always a little ambiguous. I liked him in some ways, but he could be terribly irritating in others."

Camille giggled and replied "You know, Richard, that's what friends are like. As I just said, Isabelle and Alain know me, and although I can be a pain in the neck, they still like me. And _you_ … you know me, too, you know about my strengths and my weaknesses, and you still… you still…"

She paused and waited, her head tilted to one side, looking at him expectantly.

He pulled her closer, leaning in, finished her sentence whispering "I love you…" - and closed the gap.

* * *

Three weeks later, Camille and Richard were on the plane back from Paris. It had been a little challenging to find flights at a convenient time with the budget airline that they had had to travel with – they had re-scheduled Camille's flight to Paris for Good Friday eve, and it hadn't been a problem to book the same flight for Richard, but the way back to London had been a bit more difficult. The flight that Camille had originally reserved had been entirely sold out by the time she had finally wanted to book, so they had ended up returning to the UK much later in the day than anticipated. Richard had not been impressed with the airline's general service, but apart from that, it had been a surprisingly enjoyable trip.

He had almost chickened out again when Camille had sat him down and made him book his flight with her laptop, but now he was glad that he had come along to meet her friends. Alain and Isabelle had been very nice and hospitable, but they had not insisted on spending every minute together with their visitors. Camille had taken him to all sorts of places, she had showed him around and introduced him to a few favourite places. There hadn't been time for museums and art galleries, and the weather had been too good, anyway – why spend time indoors when it was so balmy outside? He couldn't resist Camille's logic here – and so they had spent time walking around in parks, sitting in cafés, exploring the booksellers' stalls along the Seine and buying treats in the chocolate shops…

Alain and Isabelle had come along one afternoon, and they had had a pic-nic in the _Jardin de Luxembourg_. They had sat on a bench, relaxed in the sunshine and watched people passing by – families, runners, young people on bikes... Alain and Richard had discussed an article that Richard had recently read in a magazine about medieval history, and Isabelle and Camille had exchanged their views on the most recent political scandal that had unsettled France. After a while, they had all turned to less serious topics again – and eventually, they had taken out their food and started to eat.

When Camille had fed him a piece of brie and given him a radiant smile while Alain and Isabelle had kissed spontaneously, he had finally reconciled with Paris…

For the longest time, the city had been on top of his 'never again' list.

He had only visited the 'city of love' very briefly once before, and that had been years and years ago… he had been in his last year at university, and his 'gang', the group of friends he had hung out with, had made a weekend trip to Paris. He had been sceptical about it, but then had tagged along as he hadn't wanted to be the odd one out again – he had been in that position for way too long, and he hadn't wanted that any more. Plus, there had been this girl that he had had feelings for… confusing feelings… and those had made him join the others on that trip.

It hadn't been all that much fun for Richard since the girl he had set his heart on back then had pretty much ignored him during their stay in Paris – he had had high hopes for romantic walks along the Seine, and he had imagined that they'd sit together in little street cafés, sipping their drinks (not tea, obviously… back then, he had been convinced that the French couldn't brew a decent tea… it had been much later in his life that Camille's mother had shown him otherwise and proved him wrong!) and talking about all sorts of things… He had also thought they'd go to art galleries and museums together. After all, Sasha was reading French literature – she would be interested in art and such, wouldn't she?

None of that had happened, though. His 'friends' had only been interested in cheap booze and enjoying the nightlife, and so he had spent most of the time on the evenings alone in the dingy hotel room that he had shared with Roger and James… reading and feeling a bit let down. Usually, they had come back to the hotel in the middle of the night, dead drunk. Richard had also spent much of the days on his own as the others had to sleep it off – pretty much the only one who had been halfway sober had been Angela – and he hadn't been too keen on her, so he had tried to avoid her and ventured into exploring Paris on his own. Since his French had been very limited, it hadn't been so easy, and he had been relieved when they had all returned to the UK.

It had been totally different this time. He hadn't been lonely – he had actually got along very well with Alain and Isabelle – after his initial self-consciousness had been overcome - and just like Camille had predicted, they had welcomed him as a friend – they had put up with his sad attempts at speaking at least a little bit of French (he had tried to learn a few basic phrases in order to show that he was making an effort, and much to his surprise, it hadn't been as hard as he had thought it would be! Of course, Camille had teased him in private that her 'lessons' in the bedroom had obviously encouraged him to try using some less specific vocabulary…), they had respected his little quirks, and they had done everything to put him at ease. He had not felt left out, weird or eccentric in their company. And although there had been jokes about the English, nothing of what they had said had been offensive.

Why had he always thought he didn't like France and he'd never return to Paris? This experience only proved that you should never say 'never'…

As he sat on the plane back to London this time, holding Camille's hand, he couldn't help but feel sorry for his younger self. How sad that his first trip to Paris had been such a failure, and how sad that none of the dreams he had had back then had come true for him…

But then, once again, he realised that it was silly to dwell on the past. Maybe things hadn't always worked out for him, but it was useless to wonder what would have been if circumstances had developed differently. His path had taken him into a different direction than he had envisioned back then, but in the end, it had taken him to Camille, and he was happy now, so why worry and fret about things he couldn't change any more?


	21. Doubts

Chapter 21 - Doubts

Camille was sitting on the bus, returning home from the training centre. Spring had arrived, and things had been going very well for her lately. Almost too well. The current module was going smoothly, and she and Claire had formed a good work friendship. They had started to compare their notes and often sat together in the cafeteria to discuss subject matters they had talked about during lessons – it made going to lessons a lot more pleasant, and Camille didn't feel so lonely any more. The first few months in the UK had been difficult, but now that she felt more at home, everything was easier.

Even the 'Stephen issue' was resolved now – he had apparently met someone in Southwark, and apparently, the interest was mutual, so he was currently in the early stages of a relationship and had no eyes for Camille any more. He was still friendly, but not 'intense' in his attention any more. She was enormously relieved about that – it could have become difficult if he had kept running after her. She had realised that – besides the fact that she was only interested in Richard – one major turn-off about Stephen was that he reminded her of Humphrey in a particular way – although she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

Then she realised that maybe it was the puppy eyes that reminded her of Humphrey's mooncalf look.

Obviously she needed someone more independent, someone who'd let her be herself, someone who'd abide her moods and quirks without feeling responsible for them all the time… someone who'd want to make her happy, but wouldn't bore her with aiming for constant harmony… someone who'd respect her without idolising her… someone who'd challenge her.

Someone like Richard…

But was _she_ what _he_ needed?

Was she making him happy?

And would they be able to make things last?

Although everything was going well, she was in a thoughtful mood. Sometimes, he seemed so withdrawn… Looking out of the window and taking in the scenery, she let the past few weeks pass by in review.

The trip to Paris had been lots of fun, and although Richard had felt somewhat uncomfortable at first, he had enjoyed their stay with Alain and Isabelle. Of course, the fact that Alain was a historian had made it so much easier – this had paved the way for getting into a conversation without too many difficulties. The first few hours had been a bit strained as Richard had clearly felt self-conscious and nervous, but Isabelle and Alain had done everything to make him feel more comfortable, and eventually, Richard had relaxed and felt at ease with her friends – as much as he was able to feel at ease with people he had never met before!

While laying out the table for dinner on the second evening, Isabelle had remarked to Camille that Richard was different from what she had expected. "Mind you, he is very correct and quite obsessed with details, and at first I thought he's quite stuffy, but then he made that deadpan remark and I saw a twinkle in his eyes – and I realised he's got a sense of humour, it's just that he doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve." She had smiled and added "He's _got_ to have a sense of humour, otherwise he wouldn't be together with you… simply because he couldn't stand your constant teasing…"

Camille had punched her friend, and they had laughed together. Richard had passed them a sideways glance as he was discussing the recent political developments on both sides of the channel with Alain, and Camille had given him a reassuring smile – since she and Isabelle had spoken French, he had obviously felt a little insecure. The two men had been sitting on the couch, and although Richard's French had become a little better lately, he still was at a loss when people spoke fast and used colloquial expressions and abbreviations he wasn't familiar with. He had understood that the two women had been talking about him, though, and that had made him slightly uncomfortable. He had not asked to find out what they had said, but Camille had told him later on that Isabelle had mentioned he had a good sense of humour, and that had obviously flattered him.

She had not told him about another observation that Isabelle had made – simply because she had felt it was a rather private issue and he wouldn't appreciate having his character and behaviour patterns dis-sected by someone whom he just only had met…

During a longer walk – while Richard had described the investigations of a Saint Marie case to Alain and explained how he had had to resort to homespun experiments to find proof for a theory he had developed – Isabelle had said in a thoughtful voice "You know, Camille, you told me that Richard had a hard time trusting people and that he might be a bit stand-offish towards us because of that. Mind you, he might be a little stuffy sometimes, but it seems he trusts people enough to let them in to a certain extent. A _minimal_ extent, admittedly, but he doesn't shut everyone out completely – that is what people who have learnt to mistrust literally _everyone_ would do. He might have his pompous façade, but if you try hard enough, you _can_ get in – as you did. And as a result, he's obviously _trying_ to trust Alain and me, too – to a certain extent, as I said. He's a very kind man – but I can see that it will be no cakewalk with him… he's just as pigheaded as you are, and there'll be conflicts – I know you've sorted out the basics, otherwise you wouldn't be together now… But let me tell you that relationships can be hard work, and you've got to be prepared for that… I imagine he's been hurt at some point, and you may have to overcome obstacles in your relationship that you don't see coming right now… I hope you'll both be strong enough to deal with them…"

Camille had pondered this friendly advice, and she knew that Isabelle was right… They had already had a few clashes, there had been their misunderstanding right after Christmas, and every once in a while, they had had to make compromises or simply had had to agree to disagree… Would they – would _she_ \- have the patience and perseverance to make things work in the long run?

Despite her flirtatious nature and her apparently easy-going attitude, Camille didn't have a great record when it came to relationships. She had no problems getting to know men, but she had her own ideas about how things should develop, and freedom had always been important to her. She had never lived with a man, and she had no real long-term experience, either – her longest relationship had lasted for two years, and during the second year she had mostly been trying to come up with a way of ditching the guy without hurting him too much… And she knew that Richard had never had a serious relationship to speak of, either – even less so than herself. She couldn't help but wonder whether or not their relationship had a chance… everything was going smoothly _now_ , but would it stay this way? Or rather, would the good outweigh the bad? Could their respective cultural backgrounds be a dividing element in the end?

Her parents had loved each other, too… initially. They had come from different cultures, and in the long run, it hadn't worked out, so they had split up – would the same thing happen to her and Richard?

She sighed. There was no real reason to be worried at this point – everything was going well, and she felt they were on a good way, but was it real, and would it stay this way?

Her thoughts wandered back to the trip to Paris. There had been a few awkward moments in between when Richard had been self-conscious – but overall, they had had a brilliant time. It had been fun to show him some of her favourite places and tell him about her various memories. Some had been good, some not so good – but she was able to accept the not so good ones as part of her personal history… and actually, some of the memories of experiences she had made back then only had come back while she was telling him about something. When she had mentioned that, he had given her a thoughtful smile and said "Good for you… people say it's bad to have a memory like a sieve, but the older I get the more I think it's sometimes a lot better than having a memory like a bag – you know, where everything just piles up and you can never let go of things, but keep thinking about them and turning them over and over again…"

She had enjoyed watching him as he had got acquainted to her old stomping grounds – it had been interesting to see him realising that she, too, had been young and foolish, that she had made hurtful experiences, that not everything in her life had been easy and smooth… in theory, he had known that, but he had always been blinded by her demonstratively determined and resolute attitude towards things.

As a result, he had become a little more talkative about his own past – and although he hadn't really made any earth-shattering revelations so far, Camille had got some new insights and understood him better. Sometimes, he could be very prosaic, but he had also shared a few more emotional memories with her, and that had shown her new facettes that she hadn't yet been aware of.

She felt almost ashamed now when she thought of how she had acted towards him during the first year of their cooperation, but then again – he had been so stuffy and pompous, it had been impossible to get through to him. He had almost constantly been on his guard. She had only got a glimpse of his real personality on very few occasions… and those, of course, had been the basis for her more affectionate feelings for him… Now that he let her in much more deeply and frequently, she realised how blind she had been for so many of his qualities.

When she had tried to couch her feelings in terms, he had seemed slightly embarrassed and said somewhat offishly "Well, I didn't really _want_ you to know too much… so it wasn't really _your_ _fault_ , but more _my_ _strategy_ of trying not to reveal a lot about myself. Although I claimed I was an 'open book' and had nothing to hide… The thing is: People are fickle – and they might use their knowledge about your weaknesses against you when you least expect it – at least that's been the experience I've made. With my background, Camille, you realise that trust is something you should save for very few people…"

Camille had given him a reproachful look, and he had hastened to add "I don't mean you, Dwayne or Fidel were fickle. Of course, you weren't. And I did trust all of you… after a while. I just was _cautious_. You know, I've been the fool in the corner way too often – so I learnt to hide myself behind a façade and come up with a 'persona', if you know what I mean. It's a habit that became second nature. I'm sure you have already figured that out, haven't you?"

That all had gone into the same vein like Isabell's remark, and Camille had been touched by his honesty on one hand, but she had also been a bit worried…

Would they be able to leave all this behind? Would their bond be strong enough to overcome difficulties and problems? Could they master the challenge that their different backgrounds presented? Every once in a while, she had noticed how he had got impatient with her because she didn't understand references to things he had grown up with – but then again, how was she supposed to know about all these little details? Sure, maybe she was over-exaggerating the differences. In Paris, she had realised how 'French' she actually was in many respects… maybe that had made him think, too?

Once he had been back in her life by coincidence, she had been so focused on making him jump over his shadow and getting together with him… on making a commitment, on having him make the same commitment… And now that the novelty was about to wear off, things calmed down and their relationship was established and got into some sort of routine – what would happen now? Would they get bored with each other? Would their love last, or would it get stifled by routine?

Admittedly, Richard had done quite a few surprising things since they had got together… The decorations in his living room when he had invited her for Valentine's Day, the food he had cooked, the jewelry he had given her… And then the trip to his parents, plus the fact that he had agreed to coming to Paris with her, despite his initial doubts… all these things weren't indicating that there was too much routine in their relationship. And while there was _some_ sort of routine in how they saw each other on Wednesdays and weekends and then also in how they spent their weekends going for runs or swimming or sightseeing – there wasn't really anything boring about all that. Quite the contrary, this rhythm gave her security and stability, and yet there was a nagging little voice, wondering if that all was enough in the long run…

Things in the bedroom were more than just satisfying – yes, of course, by now she knew what he liked, and they were more familiar with each other's reactions, but that didn't mean it was boring. It clearly wasn't, no. It was warm, tender and fulfilling, and she felt truly cherished by him. Sometimes, they just cuddled and then fell asleep without 'further action', and that was okay with her, too – sometimes it was enough to just feel loved and 'appreciated'. She didn't feel that it was necessary or possible – or even desirable – to have wild sex every time they got together. Sometimes, they just had things going on in their daily lives that made them feel wary or pre-occupied, and then they didn't feel much like ravishing each other. Then it was just great to have one another's company, chat a little about this and that, have a glass of wine together and go through everyday routines. That wasn't dull at all – Camille actually found it strangely comforting on days when her mind was busy with all sorts of things.

Their conversations were always enlightening in one way or another, but it also was fun just to be silly with him and pitch tales about 'what would happen if' – he was very imaginative and could come up with the weirdest stories…

He had admitted once that he had loved reading all sorts of 'bizarre' books as a child and had had a vivid imagination – somehow, though, he had buried that side of himself as he had grown up and only allowed it to come out of the closet when he was investigating crimes… Now that he had someone to share his tales with, this side had surfaced again…

No, it never was boring with him, and even when they were having tiffs and shouting at one another… they always reconciled and respected each other's opinions.

She had no reason for her lingering doubts, but that didn't make them any less real for her. She'd have to stop overthinking – it was pointless, anyway.

She noticed the bus was approaching her neighbourhood, and she would have to get off in a minute, so she got up and made her way to the exit.

* * *

Richard checked the time on his wristwatch and realised with relief that he could call it quits in another half hour. It was Tuesday, and for some reason he had been feeling slightly uneasy and fidgety all day long. It was a good thing that the days were getting longer again… that way, he could go for walks or runs after work. He was keen on getting out of the office - he felt that he needed some distraction today. Work had been fairly demanding lately, and he had found his thoughts wander off every once in a while when he was actually busy doing something completely unrelated to work. He had caught himself being unfocused a couple of times, even when he had been with Camille, and it had alarmed him – he didn't want to let work get into the way of their relationship, but of course, work was important… and how could you stop your thoughts from lingering, anyway?

When he had got home and changed into his running gear, he had set off in direction of the park. He moved automatically – and although he noticed the fresh air, the budding flowers, the bunnies on the lawn and the sunshine, he was deeply lost in thought. He needed to clear his mind – there was something that had been bothering him recently, and running always helped him to focus and get down to the bottom of a problem.

It had been a couple of weeks since they had returned from Paris, and everything had gone well since then. Camille had been busy with her training, but they were seeing each other regularly, they talked frequently on the phone, they e-mailed and texted, and he was happy with how things had developed. The stay at Paris, the insights he had got there, the fun they had had… he felt that this had strengthened their bond.

Still, he had the impression that Camille had been a bit absent-minded, almost subdued lately. He wondered if it had to do with the training course – although she had mentioned everything was going well there at the moment – or if it was because she was worried about her next assignment – although she had no reason to worry, her experiences had been very positive so far, and she had received excellent reports both from Islington and Hammersmith…

Was she nervous because more than half of the course was finished, getting jittery because of the final exams? No, they were still too far away, and she'd serve at two more stations before the finals started… No, it was not like her to get upset at this point.

Or maybe it was something entirely different…

Maybe she was homesick? No, she had just mentioned the other day that she really liked spring in the UK – the different seasons were a lovely change from the Caribbean climate, as she had pointed out. And she spoke to Catherine on a regular basis – either via Skype or on the phone (difficult because of the time difference) or via e-mail.

As he watched two bunnies chasing each other on the lawn, another thought came up… was it his fault? Was she getting bored with him? Was this relationship getting stalled already? Was the routine they had fallen into killing the excitement?

Not for him – no. They had been together for less than half a year – but this clearly was a record for him. Well, considering that his basis point was zero, it wasn't hard to top this. But seriously, he had never felt so comfortable around someone else, and he cherished every moment with her. Admittedly, they had had misunderstandings and difficulties here and there, and naturally, they still bickered, and every once in a while, she had been very temperamental, and he had lost patience, and they had ended up in a shouting match – resembling the ones they had had on Saint Marie all those years ago. But they had always reconciled and cleared up their misunderstandings and issues.

He had opened up a bit more about his past – was she embarrassed by that, maybe? Was she comparing him to previous boyfriends? He knew there weren't too many, but still… his self-esteem wasn't too great when it came to the relationship department, and since he had zero experience himself, he had no idea whether or not you drew parallels or made comparisons at all… Maybe some people did and others didn't – but how was he supposed to know which side Camille was on in that respect?

As far as he was concerned, the trip to Paris had been a success – and she, too, had said that it had been fun. She had been happy that he had enjoyed the trip – she wouldn't have said it if she hadn't meant it.

The physical side of their relationship still was absolutely amazing – and while he had often heard that things in the bedroom would dull down after a while, he didn't feel that happening at all. Sure, they didn't spend entire _days_ in bed, and their love play wasn't full of acrobatic stunts and kamasutra-like contortions, but there was enough variety, and she had taught him a few tricks that had added more spice to their activities… They kept discovering new things together, too, and so far, he hadn't got the impression that she was bored, either – _he_ surely wasn't. No, quite the opposite – they were more in tune with one another now, and there was a certain sense of accordance that made their lovemaking more intense, more harmonious… more blissful. It had become better and better the more comfortable they had got with one another…

He generally felt more 'at home' in his own skin since he had taken up exercising on a regular basis, and she had taken away the last little doubt about his physical appearance – when he was with her, he felt attractive, loved and appreciated – and that was more than he had ever experienced before. She had clearly given him more self-confidence in that department… She marvelled at the contrast between his light skin and her caramel coloured complexion, she let her hands slide over his thighs and admired how muscular they were, she ruffled his hair and said how much she loved its soft, fluffy structure – when he had always felt he was pale as death (or as red as beetroot, when he was embarrassed!), his thighs weren't remarkable, let alone 'athletic', and his hair was too fine, thin and flimsy. And she kept saying that it was perfect that he wasn't a whole lot taller than her – that way she could at least kiss him more easily… he had always considered himself being too short, but she insisted on him being the perfect height. She wouldn't say this if she didn't mean it – or at least if she didn't see him this way. He knew she wouldn't lie or sham… and he loved her for saying all these things… and meaning them.

He never tired of their conversations – they were interesting, thought-provoking and engaging – most of the time. Sometimes they were admittedly silly and trivial – but he always enjoyed their communication. They had developed some sort of secret code – actually, he realised now that they had already had a secret code on Saint Marie… and it had been developed further since they had got together here in the UK.

So, what could it be?

He just couldn't get his head around what was going on. He wasn't doubting their relationship – but he was wondering if maybe she was…

The sound of his feet hitting the ground in a steady rhythm was reassuring and comforting somehow, and for a few minutes he focused on the consistent thumping…

In the distance, he saw one of the parkgates… he noticed a bus passing the fence… And suddenly, he knew what he had to do. He headed for a bench, took out his phone and checked the time. Then he checked how much cash he had on him – he usually carried a small wallet for emergencies… You never knew, you might get lost and end up too tired for running home, or you might trip over a branch and hurt yourself… then it was vital to have at least some cash on you so you had enough for the next bus or even a cab to take you home…

When he had counted the money in his wallet, he put it back into his windbreaker jacket and moved in direction of the gate in front of him…

* * *

Camille had showered and put on dark tracksuit pants and a light blue fleeceshirt. Spring might be there, but it had been chilly in the evenings, so she still wore warm and comfy clothes when she stayed at home.

She looked into her fridge and tried to decide what she'd want for dinner. She had had a sandwich for lunch, so she wanted to have something warm now. For a moment, she wished she could have some of her mother's chicken soup, but that was out of the question for obvious reasons. She realised that this sentiment had only come up because of her previous glumness…

Although she had managed to get out of the dumps, there still was some underlying dejection influencing her mood, and she just couldn't shake it off.

Well, since chicken soup was not going to happen, it had to be pasta. She wasn't an emotional eater, but when she felt low and couldn't have chicken soup, she always went for carbs.

She took out all the necessary ingredients and began to chop the tomatoes when she heard the doorbell ring.

Now, that would most likely be her eccentric and sometimes slightly irritating neighbour, she figured. Every once in a while, he came to borrow things from her… Since he was very generous when she needed something, she couldn't really ignore him now, so she put down the knife with a sigh and went to open the door…

* * *

Some time later, she snuggled up to Richard, feeling peaceful and content. He held her tight, and with a happy sigh, she let her hand slide over his chest.

"How did you know, Richard?" she asked softly.

"How did I know what?" he asked back.

"That I needed you today…" she whispered. Then, clarifying "I mean, I _always_ need you, but I've been feeling somewhat… off… lately, and I had all sorts of muddled thoughts going around in my head, and nothing seemed to rhyme… I can't even put my finger on what it was, but it was like… it was like I had a bear sitting on my shoulders that I just couldn't get rid of. And today… I had the silliest doubts about you and me and what-not… I can't even say why… they just were there, without a reason, and I couldn't shake them off…"

"Hmmm…" he made. Then he rolled over and looked into her face, intently holding her gaze. "I know what you mean. I've felt something was… weird, and I was wondering… I feared we might… we might kind of drift apart for some reason – not that you've said or done anything… it was just… Blimey, Camille, I hate to say it, but it was a _feeling_ I had, and it got so strong that I couldn't ignore it. So, I just had to come and see you…"

She grinned and said "You had a _feeling_ , mind you… I never thought I'd _ever_ hear you saying that. But I'm glad you came… and if you stay for a little longer, you might even get something to eat. After all that physical exertion from running and… and so on… you have surely deserved a huge plate full of pasta al pomodoro!"

"That sounds fabulous," he responded and pulled her closer. "But I think I'm not completely whacked yet… I might want to exert myself further before having food… unless you're terribly opposed to the idea…"

With a shiver, she felt him guiding her leg around his hips. She noticed his newly awakened arousal, and her voice was throaty when she asked saucily "Want a helping hand?"

Richard took in a hissing breath when he felt her hand coming between them to touch him - good heavens, this was _intense_ … and then all conscious thinking went out of the window as he felt his desire taking over… Camille let out a long keen when he finally came to her… their bodies moved entirely in sync… and finally, they came to a shuddering climax together.

When it was over, they held on to one another, not wanting to let go - and within minutes, they drifted off into dreamland together – their bodies still tangled, his head buried in her neck, and Camille's legs wrapped around his…


	22. Memories

Chapter 22 – Memories

When Camille crawled into bed again later in the evening and switched off the light on her nightstand, she smiled happily. She dug her nose into the pillow that still held Richard's scent – as did the sheets and the duvet. Well, it was a heady mix of her and his scent, to be more precise. All her pointless doubts and weird feelings had disappeared, and she felt reassured and safe.

He had left her again after their very late dinner, wearing his running gear. He had showered, and she had given him a T-shirt that he had left in her flat a while ago when he had stayed overnight – she had washed it and put it into her closet – and 'forgotten' to return it!

Before he had left, they had stood locked in a tight embrace for several minutes and kissed tenderly, and when he had arrived at home – they had called a cab -, he had rang her to let her know that he had made it. They both had felt the need to 'be close' – and this evening somehow had added a new dimension to their relationship.

She had gone to bed straight after his phonecall. His unexpected visit had turned everything around… When she had opened the door and seen him in front of her, she had been flabbergasted. She had let him in, and for a moment, neither of them had spoken. Then he had taken her in his arms and whispered "I hope my visit's not ill-timed. It's just… I've been out running, and suddenly I felt I just _had_ to come and see you."

She hadn't said anything in response, but put her arms around his neck and kissed him – gently and lightly at first, but that had changed quickly as they both had been overcome by a sudden, urgent need for closeness and intimacy, and very soon, they had found themselves in her bedroom… Her bed wasn't very comfortable for two when it came to sleeping, but it was big enough for what they were up to at this point…

Camille still was stunned by what had happened. Never before had he come to her place without making sure beforehand that it was convenient for her. Spontaneous visits were absolutely not his kind of thing. He had explained, though, that he had felt a sudden longing for her, that he had wanted to make sure she knew how much she meant to him… Those were words she had never expected him to say to her, and they had come out sincerely, without being 'prompted'. He wasn't the type who'd come up with sweet nothings or big words, and it still wasn't easy for him to put his emotions into words sometimes – so this was definitely amazing.

And he had come exactly at the right time. She had been honest when she had said to him that she had felt 'off' for no particular reason… It had been a revelation to hear that he had felt something wasn't quite right and that he had wanted to be near her – if only to be reassured that all was well.

Determinedly, she boxed her pillow into shape and turned over to sleep… She no longer doubted that things would work out just fine. The fact that Richard had _sensed_ she was in a somewhat thoughtful mood and entertaining (silly) doubts spoke volumes – he was so much more perceptive than she had realised. At least when it came to _her_ feelings… He still could be fairly insensitive towards others – because they weren't important to him. But he had an antenna for her emotional state, obviously… and tonight, he had opened up about a few things she had been wondering about.

He had actually been unusually talkative, as if he had wanted to get something off his chest… Although he had become so much better at sharing his thoughts, they had left some topics untouched so far, and she realised now that it had been bugging her for a while already… she hadn't quite known what it was, but now she could see it clearly.

"You know, I hadn't wanted to make the same mistake I made when… when your friend was killed…" he had said, almost sounding a little helpless – they had prepared dinner together, and he had helped her chopping the tomatoes. She had just looked at him, a big question mark on her face, and he had tried to explain "You know, when Aimée died and we were investigating, I wasn't sure what to say and… and how to approach you…"

She nodded, encouraging him to say more, and he added "Several times, I debated with myself whether or not I should call you to say that I was thinking of you and that I hoped you'd… you'd feel… more like yourself again soon… but it all sounded wrong to me, and clumsy, and… oh, you know how I came up with telling you about the dog I lost when you sat on the beach, but of course, that wasn't appropriate at all! I thought you might think I was bothersome and… and obtrusive. So, I never said more… I didn't want to be mawkish and sentimental… and maybe I would have made things worse for you… although I wanted you to know that… that my heart went out to you. I was too afraid, though… And I know it was wrong that I kept quiet, and I didn't want to make that mistake again. I mean, I felt something was going on and you've been feeling a little weird lately, and I was wondering where we were going, and while I was out running, I realised you might be wondering the same thing. So, when I realised this, I wanted to be with you – so… that's how I ended up here. Your neighbour was just leaving the house, so he let me in, and well…"

She had been surprised by his words – she hadn't had any idea about _how_ hard he had struggled to show his compassion after Aimées death. She had been aware of his awkward attempts to show his concern, and initially, she had found them embarrassing and cringy, but then she had realised that he just didn't know how to convey his sentiments. But she hadn't known that he had spent so much time on thinking about how he could show her that he cared – without giving himself away. He had confessed that he had already felt very attracted to her at that point, but couldn't name his emotions – or didn't want to do it, as he had admitted with a crooked smile.

"You know, Camille, so many people seem to think that being in love is the most wonderful feeling in the world. For me, though, it wasn't. At least not at that point in my life. You know me – I want things to be in order, I want a certain routine – and on Saint Marie I was even more concerned with all that because I was thrown into a world I didn't know and I just couldn't figure out how to deal with it. Falling in love wasn't on the agenda for me – it scared me to have 'feelings', and you drove me batty, anyway – I had never met anybody like you who had got so completely under my skin. I found that disconcerting. And I couldn't admit to myself that you were important to me – although, of course, you were."

And he had taken out the cutlery to lay out the table, continuing matter-of-factly "I think it dawned on me that you were more than just my DS when you showed up at your mother's bar and mistook me for your Erzulie date for a moment. I can't even begin to describe how confusing that was – and the look on your face seemed to indicate that you… oh well… but of course, it couldn't be, and I was sure I had been mistaken once again in interpreting your words and actions… plus, if I hadn't, it would mean something I couldn't handle, so it was better just to ignore it…"

She had turned around, the full plates in her hands, and looked at him in amazement. "I had no idea…" she had replied.

"Well, neither had I…" was his dry response. "Whatever it was, it scared me out of my wits, and so… Oh well. It's history now. I – I just thought you should know… And I didn't want to make a mistake again by… by not 'telling it like it is', you know… how I didn't know how to react when we talked in the night of the hurricane when you said you liked me when I was 'human', how I didn't do anything when I got notice that my assignment would end, how we misunderstood each other after Christmas… all those times when I basically either stuck my head into the sand or did the wrong thing although I meant well… "

Camille lay in her bed, cuddling into her pillow and recalling his voice when he had told her all this… it had been thick with emotion, although he had tried to play things down. And then he had said "And I know I haven't said it before, but honestly, Camille – after you had kissed me farewell that day on Saint Marie, nothing… _nothing_ has ever been the same any more in my life. I know it sounds pathetic and turgid and all that, but although I tried to ignore it, it did change things for me. I was upset because I couldn't forget you, but well… that's the way it was. I don't want to lose you again just because… oh, you know…"

She remembered how angry she had been when he had left Saint Marie, how the memory of him had come back to haunt her all the time, how hard she had tried to forget him… But it had been like he had cast a spell on her – despite all his idiosyncrasies, his stuffy manners, his reticence, his awkwardness, his occasional rudeness. He hadn't been like anybody she had met before, and she hadn't had any idea why she would have fallen for him – but it _had_ happened, and she had been unable to get him off her mind.

Now she knew him better – and it was strange how he was still the same person in so many ways, yet he was different… and she felt cold when she thought of how she might never have got to know him like this and perhaps would always have misjudged him simply because she hadn't known him so well…

Whatever, she was thankful that he had made an effort to see her tonight. It had put her mind to rest, and the uneasy feelings she had entertained over the past few days had disappeared. She had worried for nothing…

* * *

A couple of weeks later she had finally found the time to sit down and look through her memory box. It was still sitting on the couch table when Richard came to see her after work.

"What's that?" he asked as he plopped on the couch after dinner. "What?" Camille asked back, realising then that he pointed at the sturdy little case on the table.

"Oh, that's my memory box," she explained, sitting next to him and taking a sip of wine. She could see that he had no idea what it was, so she put down her glass and pulled up the box. She put it on the couch between them and opened the lid.

"Look, it's a collection of things that I gathered over the years. Each item represents a particular memory or a phase in my life… I cannot possibly keep every drawing I've made or every seashell I've picked up in my life, so I'm only keeping 'samples' or 'representatives', if you know what I mean…"

"Oh, you mean it's a treasure trunk? I had something like that as a child… but then sort of gave up on it once I was a teenager… " He understood better now.

"Yes, I know – a lot of people give up on memory boxes once they grow up. So, maybe that means I've never grown up?"

He snorted and said "Could be… actually, that would explain a lot of things…"

She rolled her eyes at him, then she continued "Well, my memory box gets revised once a year – usually around Christmas time, but somehow I didn't manage to look through it last Christmas… I think I was pre-occupied with other things…"

She smiled now, thinking of how they had spent the holidays last year. It was hard to believe that half a year had passed since then…

"Here, that's one of the flowers you made for me for Valentine's weekend…" she said, and then she took out a perfectly shaped round pebble stone, explaining "This is from the seaside when I was in Normandy last year, in my mother's home town…" The next item she held up was a particularly shaped seashell.

"Oh, I know this," he said with an incredulous undertone. "That is, I _think_ I know it…"

She nodded and said "I would guess so… I found this on your veranda table on the day after you left, next to the little lantern… I had gone for a walk, and although I hadn't intended to go there, I ended up at your house somehow, and there was this seashell… so I took it with me… I think I brought it in originally, so I just took it back… and it's been sitting in here all the time… along with this tin I found in the office… we had a closer look at your desk just before Humphrey came and cleared it out thoroughly, and this was in the bottom drawer, hidden behind a puncher, I think…"

"Oh, my _secret_ _extra-tin_ for jelly beans," he exclaimed. "I had hidden it so well that I had completely forgotten about it. You didn't happen to bring the jelly beans, too?"

She passed him an amused sideways glance and replied "Believe it or not, Dwayne ate them all. Well, Fidel and I helped, but I'm sure that Dwayne ate more than three quarters of them. We took them to my mother's and demolished them… in loving memory of you, of course!"

He looked a little disappointed, and she laughed. "Come on, they wouldn't be good any more now, would they – and if they were, I'd be really worried!"

"What's that?" he asked curiously, pointing at a paper napkin with a logo that looked somewhat familiar. He realised that it was the logo of the seafood restaurant by the beach. He had only been there once, but the logo had been remarkable so he had remembered it.

Camille turned it around and showed him a drawing – a caricature, apparently. The face of the portrayed person looked slightly familiar, but Richard couldn't figure out who it was.

"Aimée drew this when we went out for seafood shortly before she was killed… it's a portrait of her manager – we have met him when… when we investigated her murder…" Her voice sounded a little unsteady now, but after a second she had composed herself again, and with a gentle smile, she put the napkin back into the box.

"And this," - she took out a little box, opened it and showed him Humphrey's compass ring – "was my farewell gift from Humphrey, your successor…"

"A ring - seriously?" Richard sounded slightly bemused, and she had the feeling that he didn't approve of this gift at all. She couldn't really blame him, it was an odd present, indeed. Of course, she knew what Humphrey had tried to express with it… Suddenly she realised that she had never said much about Humphrey and their friendship, so she figured this was a good moment to do so. It was time to put her cards on the table, she decided…

"You know, I'm not sure if this one will stay in my memory box, but for the moment, it's here, and since I can't quite make up my mind, it might stay."

She handed Richard the ring so he could have a closer look at it. "It's a compass, as you see," she explained (superfluously, as he obviously thought… she could see it in his face!). A little irritated now, she said "Oh well, I guess you have figured that out already… You can get this sort of ring as a watch as well, but obviously Humphrey thought a compass was more suitable in this specific situation…"

She noticed Richard's raised eyebrows and knew that this conversation could become a bit awkward – but well, they'd have to talk some time, anyway, so why not now?

She said "Well, Humphrey didn't want me to leave, and initially, he tried to withhold his consent for my transfer. I think in the end he realised that I'd leave anyway – if not then, I'd just find another way and leave later – and so he ended up giving his consent. But I think with this ring, he wanted to appeal to me to come back to Saint Marie – it's supposed to show me the way, you know."

Richard felt jealousy creeping up. What had Humphrey been to her? And what had she been to Humphrey? They had never touched this subject – was that a sign that Humphrey was not important enough to be mentioned, or was it rather that he was _too_ important?

Camille had only occasionally mentioned what work had been like after he had left – she had said that it hadn't been the same, and she had pointed out that working with Humphrey had been easier in some ways than working with _him_ , but more difficult in others. And he had given her a _ring_ as a farewell gift – wasn't that a bit inappropriate? Wasn't that impudent? Wasn't that plain outrageous?

Suddenly, he wanted to know more. He cleared his throat and remarked "That's a bit presumptuous, isn't it? After all, Saint Marie is your home, and you'll always find your way, wouldn't you? You don't really need a compass to show you the way, and I'm sure you are aware of being always welcome there… So…"

He didn't finish his sentence. Camille sensed that he was puzzled, curious and slightly alarmed. He tried to appear unfazed, but she definitely knew him well enough by now. She sighed and put the ring back into its box, closing it and putting it back into the mix of items she had collected. Then she took the lid and closed the memory box. For a moment, she looked down on the case, then she grabbed it by its cord handles and placed it on the floor next to the couch.

"Yes, I know," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and looking into Richard's eyes. "It does seem weird. If you need to know, I wore it for exactly the time it takes for the ferry from Saint Marie to get to Guadeloupe, so it was under an hour. It went back into its box when I had sat down in the cab that took me to the airport. And while Humphrey's idea might have been that it'll show me the way back, I looked at it and thought it will show me the right way into my future – if I ever needed advice, I mean. I don't think that's an issue, though, so it can remain where it is – for now, I suppose…"

Richard took a sip of his wine. There were a million things he wanted to know, but he just took a deep breath and waited. Over the two years he had worked with Camille he had learnt to rein in his temper – it was pointless to blow up on her, she'd just get mulish or blow up on him in response, and neither would be very helpful. It was hard to remain level-headed and cool when jealousy and a feeling of unease were his prevailing sentiments, but he managed to contain himself.

Camille was a little surprised about his silence. However, she took it for what it was – an invitation to clarify what had happened and explain herself – and began to talk…

She told him about the team's first encounter with Humphrey, how she had initially felt relieved because she wasn't responsible for the station any more, and how she had initially found working with him easy – until she had noticed how scatterbrained and sometimes almost neglectful he could be. She emphasised his friendly manners and mentioned how Humphrey had tried to get to know the island, how keen he was on experiencing the culture and the traditions.

Richard pulled a wry face – the more she said, the more he realised how big the contrast between Humphrey and him must have been, and he felt inadequate all over again when she pointed out how eager Humphrey had been to explore his new domicile. While _he_ had seen his transfer to Saint Marie as some sort of banishment – at least during the first year of his assignment – Humphrey had embraced the change…

Well, that was maybe not much of a surprise, given the fact that he had actively looked out for a transfer while Richard had been transplanted to Saint Marie on a whim and then got tricked into having to stay due to the Commissioner's policy.

"You know, Richard," he heard Camille saying then, "it seemed easy to work with him, and we did become friends quickly. But I also realised that what could count as an asset can be a drawback in another context. While Humphrey was apparently easy-going, he was constantly craving other people's attention… not in a loud, bothersome way, but in a good-natured, albeit… somewhat… manipulative way – for lack of a better word. He's genuinely nice… but here's the problem: He went out of his way to please everyone, and in return, he expected that people would be equally nice and please him by spending time with him. He desperately wanted to be liked. He was like… like the new kid in town who wanted to fit in so everyone would play with him. Over the first year, we – the team - spent so much time together even after work because Humphrey made all of us feel guilty for wanting to do things without him, you know…"

Richard raised his eyebrows, and Camille continued in a slightly sarcastic way "Yes, I know… why would our Detective Inspector want to spend time with us?"

A little more softly, she added "It was so different from your behaviour, and while it was fun at first, it turned into a millstone around my neck eventually. For the longest time, it didn't bother me much, though – you know that I like to go out to places and spend time with friends, and the Caribbean climate encourages that… Over here, it's cold much of the time, and so life doesn't happen on the streets, patios or decks, it happens more in clubs, pubs or restaurants – _inside_ , I mean. Humphrey liked the Caribbean way of life, and I enjoyed showing him around – more so because you had never seemed to bother, and it was a welcome change to have someone being ready to explore – as opposed to getting brushed off and rebuffed most of the time…"

She noticed the remorseful look on his face and said "No worries, Richard, I understand you better now… and I'm trying to describe my feelings from back then, it's not how I feel now. You know already that I had been hurt by the way you had just got up and left, so-to-speak, and by how you never gave us a chance, and on that background, it was a reassuring experience to have someone actually taking an interest in the island and the people."

She went on to tell him about the sudden, unexpected encounter with her father and Humphrey's reaction – and how it had helped her to put things into perspective and understand her mother a little better.

And then she finally came to the point of Fidel's warning that Humphrey thought he had fallen in love with her. Richard's eyes got wider as she told him how she suddenly had started to see his behaviour in a different light and how she had realised that she couldn't continue working with him…


	23. Understanding and Planning

Chapter 23 – Understanding and Planning

When he was at home again, Richard was deeply in thought. Camille's description of life on Saint Marie after his departure had brought up all sorts of feelings – he was caught in a mix of memories, surprise, regret and amazement. Not that any of this was helpful from a rational point of view, but he had no choice, he had to deal with his emotions now…

Admittedly, it wasn't the first time that he'd have to deal with that sort of thing… since he had left the island, he had been in this situation several times – and he had learnt that his old coping strategy of sticking his head into the sand just didn't work for some aspects of life. This time, however, it was different…

Before Camille's arrival, he had only taken his own feelings into consideration. On the occasions when they had talked about the topic, he had felt guilty for his selfishness, but he had always managed to rationalise and make himself believe that while it had perhaps been hard to a certain extent for Camille (and the rest of the team as well), she – and Fidel and Dwayne, too - had coped somehow. He had not thought that the team could have found it this difficult.

Camille had pointed out that Dwayne had got used to Humphrey fairly quickly, but then he had seen several inspectors coming and going. It had been harder for Fidel who had admired Richard a great deal, and for her, it had been quite a challenge on several levels… She had found a way to deal with the professional side of it, and she had thought that her friendly feelings for Humphrey were reciprocated, and although she sometimes had felt that his affection had put her under pressure, she hadn't thought much of it – but once Fidel had opened her eyes about just how much their boss worshipped her, she had not been able to ignore the seriousness of the situation any longer.

Richard realised that she must have felt like he had abandoned her, that he had let her down, that he had ignored her feelings and sacrificed their friendship – or whatever it had been at the point when he had left. And yet, she had forgiven him…

Her generosity was beyond him, and he almost felt a little ashamed. He felt that he needed to think about their relationship a bit more in depth – so much had happened between them, and he realised now that parts of the past would always stand between them if he didn't make an effort now to understand and face their issues.

He knew that he loved her, and he had told her so – and he had certainly done more than enough to show her over the past few months – but if he didn't deal with what had happened after he had left Saint Marie, it would always be there… like the proverbial elephant in the room. It might not become a problem today, tomorrow, or the day after – but eventually, it would raise its ugly head, and maybe, they'd fall out over it.

He certainly didn't want that. So, he'd have to accept that there were issues, and he had to sit with them for a while, no matter how uncomfortable that might be.

With a sigh, he sat down with a mug of tea – this was part of his usual evening routine, anyway, so he might as well use the time for something more sensible than watching snippets of stupid TV shows (which was what he sometimes did) or flipping through random books on his couch table.

One thing was that he was remorseful and felt utterly stupid. His behaviour on Saint Marie had been in tune with his personality – he _was_ reserved, he _was_ aware of people considering him 'weird', he _was_ generally cautious, and he had _never_ trusted easily…

But indeed, he had behaved like a complete idiot much of the time, as he realised… Not for the first time, but this time it hit him much harder, and he couldn't shrug it off…

His attire, his stiff upper lip, his entire Englishness must have come across as totally absurd. He hadn't seen it back then, but he knew it now. He had actually known it for a long time, but he hadn't been ready to fully acknowledge it.

Honestly, if Camille had done the same and come to the UK and continued to wear her bright capris, her strappy tops, her floating dresses and her fancy colourful jumpsuits – regardless of the climate – everyone would have declared her a complete loony. If she had continued to live her life the easy-going Caribbean way – without taking into account that things were different over here – people naturally would have thought she was bonkers. Not only was it way too cold for wearing light clothes all the time - the Caribbean attitude and lifestyle didn't fit into English everyday life.

No wonder then that his woollen suits and his attempts to continue his life the way he had always lived it had made people raise their eyebrows and consider him 'particular', at best. It hadn't fit into Caribbean everyday life at all…

And yet people had been tolerant. In hindsight that amazed him. They must have welcomed Humphrey with open arms – and remembering Charlie Hulme's collection of ghastly shirts that Richard had found in his closet when he had arrived on Saint Marie, he couldn't help but understand that he really had been the odd man out with his suits and briefcase…

He also realised that he was jealous – in the most irrational, annoying way. He was jealous of the time Camille and Humphrey had spent together. The way they had become friends, the way they had been close partners at work. He ignored for the moment that it had been him who had left the island and that Camille hadn't had any choice but work with his successor.

Much to his relief, Camille had made it very clear that she had never been interested in Humphrey from a romantic point of view, but still it stung a little that he had given her a ring and she had accepted it. Of course, he knew it was silly – what else could she have done but gracefully accept his goodbye gift – particularly since she didn't know what it was? And of course, it was stupid, childish and immature to be jealous of the past… but knowing all that didn't make the feeling go away.

She had described how easy it had been to work with Humphrey – initially. Then it had become more difficult because she had resented the rôle of nanny and agony aunt he was imposing on her. She was smart and very skilled when it came to analysing people's behaviour, but even she hadn't managed to look behind Humphrey's façade of happy-go-lucky behaviour for a while.

She had pointed out "You know, I thought I was safe because he was married. He kept making sad remarks about how Sally didn't want to join him on Saint Marie for whatever reasons, but it was only towards the end of the first year that it became clear that their marriage was failing. Still, I didn't think it would have any effect on our friendship. I didn't see the lonely child, the lonely man in him. In hindsight, I can see how desperately he wanted to be comforted. And I hadn't understood that their marriage had fallen apart long ago and that he was on the lookout for someone to lean on…"

Once she _had_ understood, though, she had been determined to get away from him…

"But it wasn't only this that drove me away from Saint Marie," she had explained, answering the question that she'd seen in his eyes. "I have told you before that I felt stalled, that I felt there was more out there and that I had to leave my comfort zone for a new challenge. It might have taken me a little longer to get up and go, but I was restless, and I would have left anyway. So, Humphrey was a catalyst, if you want to see it that way. I'm sure he's not aware of that, but his demonstrative attempts to impress me just were too much for me. I had considered confronting him, but in the end that would only have brought heartache and pain – and the atmosphere at the station would have been tainted forever. I'm sure he's a fine chap, but I don't think he would have taken it very well if I had told him that I could never be more than his friend and that he was wasting his time. He would have kept asking me why and if he had done anything wrong, and all that – I know him well enough to make a guess here. It would have been humiliating. It might not have been the best way to handle it, but I figured that my stance would be clear enough if I gave him the cold shoulder… Under no circumstances would I have been susceptible to his advances, and he needed to understand this without me having to tell him. It saved us both quite some embarrassment that I didn't let him go as far as declaring his immortal love, I think…"

Richard was inclined to agree with her. He remembered only too well how small and miserable he had felt when Sasha had told him that she didn't reciprocate his feelings. At least she had been honest – but he had felt really dumb and foolish for a while. Although he held no brief for Humphrey Goodman after all he had heard about him, he was glad that Camille had been kind to him by avoiding a flap.

But still he felt jealous.

He had managed to hide his jealousy while he had been at Camille's place – he had known that she'd tell him off for being a fool if he hadn't concealed it, and really, it was pointless, as he knew only too well himself…. rationally.

Still, the feeling was there. No rational thought could eliminate it.

Automatically, he followed his usual bedtime routines, brooding over his negative feelings. Suddenly, while brushing his teeth, he remembered how he had stood here in his bathroom a while ago, shortly before Valentine's Day, wondering how to bring across that he loved her. Later, when he lay in his bed, he recalled her reaction to his spontaneous visit a few weeks ago. He also thought of how happy they had been in Paris – and how she had said prior to their trip that he was the top priority in her life, but that there'd always be other people who would be important, too. He recalled all the weekends they had spent together, going for runs, swimming, sightseeing, just enjoying time together. And of course, his thoughts went back to the evening in her flat… when he had come for her housewarming dinner.

And with a snap, he suddenly _felt_ that his jealousy was a complete waste of time, emotions and energy. He _felt_ that he was the lucky one and Humphrey might have spent one and a half year with her by his side, as her partner, but she had been _his_ – Richard's – sidekick for over two years, and she was with _him_ now. She had tried to move on after his departure, and of course, she had made an effort to have a good rapport with her new boss. It hadn't been her fault that he had fallen for her, and she had clearly said that Humphrey had never been more than a friend to her. She liked him, and she wished him well, but that was all. There hadn't been any chemistry between them beyond friendship, at least from her side, and he hadn't been able to stop her when she had wanted to leave Saint Marie. Actually, he had been one of her reasons to leave…

While Richard knew that the facts still were the same and nothing had changed over the past few minutes, he felt totally different now. It had been like one of his lightbulb moments during investigations – only that it hadn't been an intellectual flash of lightning, but rather an emotional one. The parallel was that he suddenly _knew_.

He realised that Humphrey had been a bit of a dark horse for him over all this time, and it was a good thing that Camille had told him more about him. She had been full of praise for his detective skills, but had also admitted that his laissez-faire attitude towards formalities had made things unnecessarily difficult sometimes, and she had pointed out that his scatterbrained ways and his propensity for accidents had driven her nuts.

"He's enthusiastic and like a big kid in many ways," she had said – and added thoughtfully "I have to say, though, sometimes I wondered how he'd ever managed to come this far in his job. He could be so clever when we were on a case, but then again he was totally useless in daily life things… And as I said, his way of seeking or almost demanding attention was plain annoying. At first it was flattering that he wanted to spend time with us, and we thought it's nice to see that he appreciated us, but it got tedious in the long run. It was like he expected us to be at his beck and call – without really understanding how demanding and inappropriate this was. He didn't quite understand that we had a life – outside of the team, that is… When he came to Maman's bar and wanted to spend time with us, it could become rather difficult to back out. I know he was upset a few times when Fidel said he'd rather go home and spend time with Juliet and Rosie. I also got some reproachful looks after I'd gone to the gym and not come back to the bar afterwards or spent the evening with friends from school days or reconnected with people I knew from kindergarten. And Dwayne took him to clubs a couple of times only to find out that Humphrey took it for granted that he could always tag along… and you know Dwayne, he's a lady's man, and he wasn't always excited to have company during his – er – 'hauls'… or whatever you want to call it…"

Richard could imagine… He had always been impressed with Dwayne's ability to make contact with ladies – no matter what age, background or educational level they had. But even he would find it awkward and hindering to be constantly accompanied by a big child – who was his boss.

Camille had concluded "Mind you, I am grateful for his intervention when Maman and I got into a strife because of my father - he helped to put things into perspective, and I really have to give him credit for that. But I never gave him any reason to believe that I saw more in him than a friend. Instinctively, he must have known – he would have had several opportunities to tell me about his feelings, but I strongly discouraged this, and I think he got the message. I'm glad I didn't have to explain that he wasn't what I was looking for or what I needed. I need a _man_ , not a big child. Still, he couldn't help but give me that compass ring… It reminds me of him and the time… the time after your departure from Saint Marie… but that's all."

And with a mischievous glance from under her lashes, she had added "And mind you, a ring is good and well, but it has to come from the right person and at the right time. And it has to be a ring that… that suits the recipient… none of all that was the case here…"

After that, she had abruptly changed the subject, and soon afterwards, he had found himself participating in a passionate kiss that had quickly led to further action…

Yes, he mused as he lay in his bed, he _was_ the lucky one, and his jealousy had been a waste of time. She was totally committed to him, and he knew it – just like she hopefully knew that he was totally committed to her.

As he turned over, he remembered her remark about her needing a man and not a big child – and a 'ring that suited the recipient', and he closed his eyes with a smile.

* * *

Camille's third internship was getting closer to the end (she was in Uxbridge this time, on her own, and things were going fairly well, although she didn't like it as much as she had liked her previous internships… she missed Claire, and while the atmosphere at the station was friendly enough, the team wasn't as much fun as the ones she had worked with in Islington or Hammersmith) – this internship was shorter than the others as they had to get prepared for the final exams, so instead of the usual 2½ months, they only spent 2 months at this station. The month of August would entirely be spent at the training centre – they'd have another intense repetition during the first half of the month, and after that they'd sit the finals. All other exams they had taken plus the report cards they had received from the stations would be taken into account as well, so Camille felt she had a good cushion of credit points, but she didn't allow herself to be lulled into a false sense of security – she still revised and studied hard to get the best possible result in the exams.

On a lovely summer evening in the second half of July, she received several e-mails from her mother.

One contained a picture of the big frangipani tree next to Catherine's house, and the other one gave her an update on the latest events and gossip on Saint Marie. Camille forwarded the picture to Richard and added an explanatory note, and then she opened the other e-mail and began to read.

After she had finished reading about the most recent antics of the owner of the new hotel down the street, she came to a paragraph about Humphrey – apparently, he had just solved another spectacular case, this time with the help of his favourite aunt Mary who had come over from the UK for a holiday. He had ended up in hospital for a few days, and Camille laughed out loud when she read that her mother had brought him chicken soup. Catherine just couldn't stop herself from trying to convince everyone that her chicken soup was a staple for ill and ailing people. She hadn't been very successful with Richard in that respect, but Humphrey had apparently been delighted – good for Maman!

She felt that Humphrey clearly was more popular with his family than Richard had been – or maybe it was just that he had more relatives. It had taken Richard's mother over two years to come to Saint Marie, and in the end she had only come because her marriage had been in a crisis, and she had needed a place to escape. Her husband would never have come to the island unless Comissioner Patterson had given him a call and convinced him that his presence was absolutely necessary and that he had to speak at a Pancaribbean Conference – which was a complete hoax, invented by Richard and Uncle Selwyn, to lure Graham Poole to the sunny island in the Caribbean.

Other than that, Richard hadn't had any visitors. Humphrey had had his wife visiting – well, ex-wife now! – then his father had come (that had been several months after Camille's departure, and Camille had only shaken her head in disbelief when she had read that Martin Goodman had tried to convince Humphrey to return to the UK, and how he had gone about the topic), and now his aunt… Apparently, Martin Goodman had mentioned he'd return some time and bring his wife, but so far, that hadn't happened. It was only a matter of time, though, as far as Catherine saw it.

While reading all this, Camille suddenly felt a little homesick. It was partly because she missed Saint Marie, but mainly the sentiment was based on the fact that she missed her mother. It had been almost a year since she had packed up and left Saint Marie, and although she and Catherine kept in touch on a regular basis, there were moments when Camille missed sharing everyday issues with her mother. She missed the laughter they had shared, the meaningful glances they had exchanged when Richard – and later Humphrey – had come up with something particularly weird, the pranks, the chit-chat, the fun they had shared…

Yes, she missed her mother. She wanted to tell her about so many things, ask her for advice, laugh with her… and just sit and be quiet with her, too.

Richard had asked her a couple of times if she was homesick, and she had always responded that usually she wasn't, but there were moments when it overcame her, and she felt rather miserable then.

Just now was a moment like this… and she suppressed a little sob as she read on about her mother's recent shopping spree on a new supplier's website. When she had lived on Saint Marie, her mother had always asked her about food trends, what she thought about certain dishes, if it was worth changing suppliers or if they should stick with the one they had…

Oh well… angrily, Camille blinked back the tears that had somehow gathered in her eyes. This wouldn't do… she wrote a brief note to her mother to say 'thanks' for the messages and promised to reply soon, then she closed her e-mail client and shut down her laptop.

Time to get changed and go out – she'd meet Richard in the restaurant where they had had their pre-Christmas meal. Only that they'd sit outside this time – it was a warm summer evening, and Camille was looking forward to the walk to the restaurant. Richard had asked her for a 'date' – that meant they'd go out instead of cooking together at her flat. They had tried different places, and last week they had just got some street food and sat on a bench together in a nearby public garden. It was a small green patch only, with a few trees and a small pond with some ducks on it, and it had been fun to just sit there together, watch the fowl and chat about anything and everything.

They had visited Richard's parents for the last May bank holiday weekend, and they had explored the Cotswolds together – they had gone for walks, visited picturesque small villages, got delicious icecream at farmshops and eaten lunch or dinner in little country inns, and in the evenings, they had sat in Jennifer's and Graham's small garden and relaxed. It had been very peaceful.

Richard was more at ease with his parents now than he had been for most of his life, but he still wasn't overly chatty when it came to talking about himself, so Jennifer had taken to asking Camille about what they did with their spare time and other things. That weekend, she had asked about their 'plans for the future'. Richard had passed his mother an uncomfortable glance and started 'Really, Mother…"

But before he had been able to finish his sentence, Graham had joined them and made a remark about the neighbour's barking dog being a nuisance – and they had never touched the subject again.

Camille was well aware of the fact that her course would end soon, and most likely, she would be offered a job after that since she was part of the force and didn't have a job to return to on Saint Marie. But she wasn't sure what to respond to a potential job offer – it would certainly depend on what kind of offer it was. It also would depend on whether or not Richard could make up his mind about planning a future. They hadn't talked about it in-depth any more since the holidays in December – basically, they had agreed on waiting until the course was finished and making a decision then. Camille was getting a bit restless now, though, and she hoped they'd discuss this topic soon. She was deliberately keeping her mouth shut after they had had what they called 'the Big Misunderstanding' after Christmas. She wanted him to broach the subject first – she didn't want to appear needy or clingy. She was open to suggestions, but he had to take the initiative…

As Camille brushed her hair once more and then added the final touch to her make-up, she wondered if she wasn't expecting too much of Richard… But well, she'd wait and see. If he didn't come round after her exams, she might make a move, but not before then…

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when Catherine Bordey opened her laptop to check her e-mails. She had half an hour before she'd open the bar – it was July, so hurricane season had started already, and she usually cut back her hours during that season. Instead of opening for lunch everyday, she opened depending on the weather forecast – and things didn't look so great today…

She hoped that either Jennifer Poole or Camille had written – although it was surely too much to expect a response from her daughter already at this point. She had only written to her this morning – surely Camille wouldn't have replied by now. Catherine sighed - she missed her so much… they had managed to talk on the phone or via skype a couple of times, but with the time difference it was difficult, so e-mail had been their means of communication most of the time, and it just wasn't the same like talking to her.

Much to her surprise, there _was_ an e-mail from Camille – a very short one only, but at least it was a message. She thanked her for her messages, praised the beautiful picture of the frangipani tree and promised to write soon… Catherine sighed again.

She was about to close down her e-mails when a new message popped up – and she couldn't believe her eyes when she saw the sender's name. Bursting with curiosity, she opened the e-mail and began to read. It was a fairly long message… several paragraphs, and there were a few pictures…

Her eyes got wide once she had read the first paragraph. She got up and looked for her handbag. When she had located it, she rummaged around until she had found her little pocket calendar – she still preferred that to using electronic devices for her planning. With a frown, she looked through the entries she had made for late August and early September… there were a few meetings with friends, but other than that, nothing noteworthy was planned for that time… She could surely postpone those meetings… Eagerly, she read on, and a smile grew on her face.

She glanced at the clock on the wall and realised she still had a few more minutes, so she opened her browser and did a little research…

Twenty minutes later, she had made some reservations – she had two more days to make her decision, then the reservations would expire…

With another sigh – a contented one this time -, she shut down her laptop and closed it before she stored it away again in her bedroom. Then, she picked up her bag and left the house.


	24. Uncertainties and Relief

Chapter 24 – Uncertainties and Relief

„Come on, we'll go through that one last time, and then we'll call it quits – we've recapped that so often now, I'm sure it's all etched into our brain, and we'll give the correct answer if we were woken up in the middle of the night… We have deserved a break now!"

Claire sighed. Camille was right – they had worked hard, and it wasn't very likely that they'd fail their exams. Both of them had accumulated so many credit points already that they had no reason to fear a failure, but still…

It was early August, and they had ten more days to get prepared for the finals. They'd sit four exams again, and this time, they could include anything from previous modules, so it was a bit like a 'game of luck' – or as Stephen had called it, a 'round of Russian roulette'. He had a good point there, as Claire had remarked with an anguished undertone. However, Camile would hear none of this. She was trying to spread optimism, although she was nervous, too.

Half an hour later, they two women sat down in a street café to have a cold drink. Claire took a deep breath and said lazily "Wow, that feels good! Thanks for that, Camille – without you, I wouldn't have gone here. I'd be sitting in the library, panicking and feeling that I hadn't done enough…"

Camille smiled and said "I know, and I can relate. But breaks are important, and we have really done enough. I honestly believe we are well prepared, and although there's always a small risk that they'll come up with a topic we haven't really spent much time on, I think we have touched on every subject of the course, so chances are we can at least write _something_ – and then we'll remember the context automatically."

Claire nodded. "I think you're right." Then, changing the subject, she asked "Did you see the note about the 'graduation ceremony'? Big fancy word for a one year course, but anyway… I'll bring my nan, I think, but other than that, there won't be anybody coming for me… I have heard from others that their entire families, including parents, spouses, children and what-not will attend. Makes me feel a bit lonely. What about you?"

Camille shrugged and said "Not sure yet. I have invited my friends from France – but they haven't said yes or no so far… they would _like_ to come, so I hope they can make it. If they do, they'll stay for about a week altogether, so that should be fun… I bet your nan will be terribly proud of you… I wish I had family around here to come and attend, but there's only my mother, and she's too far away, plus she has a business to run on Saint Marie, so… I guess we'll see…" Her voice trailed off.

Claire wanted to ask about Camille's partner, but then she reconsidered. Camille hadn't been very forthcoming about him, and Claire was beginning to think that maybe there was something secretive about this relationship. Maybe her partner was married? Or he was a (semi-) celebrity? Or a politician? Or maybe he simply worked shifts and couldn't come because of that? Anything was possible, and she didn't want to appear nosey. It was none of her business, anyway, and Camille surely had her reasons for keeping a low profile.

Camille had no idea about Claire's thoughts. As it was, she had got so used to not talking about her relationship with Richard that it had become entirely normal to her. It never occurred to her that a few years back, she would have considered this behaviour as 'secretive' and somewhat strange… She sometimes used the word 'we' when she talked about weekend activities, and every once in a while she referred to something her 'partner' had said, but never elaborated on who he was…

In fact, Richard had promised her to show up for the graduation event. He had carefully planned his annual leave in September around the whole thing.

Officially, her course would finish in mid-September, but the graduation 'do' would take place on the first Friday in September. She would basically be free between her last exam and the graduation ceremony, but the training centre had scheduled individual appointments with all participants to discuss their further career path and invited them too meet HR officers on that occasion, so they'd all have to show up some time during the 'recess' period.

Much to her dismay, she had seen that her appointment was set for the day before the graduation ceremony, in the late afternoon. That meant she couldn't pick up Alain and Isabelle, if they chose to come that day. But Richard had promised her to go and meet them and take them to her flat so they could freshen themselves up and rest a little before they would all go out together.

After some to-and-fro, they had agreed that Camille would stay with him so that Alain and Isabelle could have her little flat to themselves if they decided to come. Camille still didn't quite know how Richard had convinced her that this was a good plan – originally, they had discussed inviting their French friends to his house, but there had been a certain reluctance from Richard's side that had been irritatingly persistent, and he had come up with one evasive answer after the other when she had tried to get to the bottom of his aversion – so she had given up eventually. She figured it might have to do with his sense of privacy – he had been okay with staying at Alain's and Isabelle's place, but that didn't necessarily mean he'd be okay with having them staying at _his_ place, and although she found this a bit petty and small-minded, she felt it wasn't worth arguing about. And truth be told, it was _his_ house, so she couldn't really make any demands.

And in a way it wouldn't be so bad – they could follow their own rhythm and get up whenever they wanted, and they'd have the chance to retreat and enjoy some quiet time together. They had already mentioned that they they might want to visit a few particular places, and it had been clear from the way they had talked about it that they didn't expect – or want? – Richard and Camille to come with them.

Initially, Camille had been taken a little aback, but then she had realised that her graduation was one good reason for them to come, but it didn't mean that this was the _only_ reason, and they had a right to privacy and independence. After all, she and Richard had been out and about on their own, too… And they had only stayed with Alain and Isabelle for a long weekend, but a period of a week or even nine or ten days was considerably longer, and it might be more difficult for all of them to compromise for that stretch of time.

Camille wasn't all that concerned about the appointment with HR. She figured that she'd be asked to occupy at least a temporary position – and things would develop from there. She had excellent grades, and her internships all had gone smoothly, so she was optimistic. And as she kept telling herself, worrying wouldn't change a thing, anyway – it would only ruin her humour.

As she saw it, it wasn't likely that she'd start a potential new job before early October, maybe later than that, so Richard had decided to take off time in September, starting the day before her graduation ceremony. He'd be off for three weeks… well, and a half. That half - the first two days, a Thursday and a Friday – was actually overtime that he had accumulated, the remainder of three weeks was regular leave.

That way, they could spend time together – they could relax at home or go for short breaks without having to focus on weekends only. Many hotels and inns had special discounts on weekdays, and they could take advantage of that. They had spoken about the Peak District, Cornwall and Wales, but not made any decisions so far – obviously it would also depend on whether or not Isabelle and Alain would come over and what their plans were. Most likely, they wouldn't spend all the time together, but maybe they could go away for a day or two during their stay in the UK.

In any case, Camille was looking forward to spending time away from London and getting to know the UK a little better – she hadn't had much of a chance to do that so far. Richard had taken her to a few places that weren't too far from London – like Brighton, Bournemouth, Bath and Winchester – and of course, they had visited his parents in the Cotswolds, but there were so many other places she wanted to see… She kept teasing him about going camping around Clacton-on-Sea, but although Richard had fond memories of his holidays there, he felt that Camille would perhaps not appreciate the inconveniences that a camping holiday would include. So, while he figured they might go there some time he had decided that 'some time' wasn't going to be this year…

He had other plans for what was going to happen this year.

* * *

Isabelle passed Alain a reproachful look – he knew precisely how much she disliked it if he checked his e-mails during breakfast. She had already opened her mouth to make a snarky remark when Alain suddenly chuckled and said "Oh wow, this is quite something" and handed her the tablet, adding "Just read this!" when he saw her questioning glance.

She did as he said and laughed out loud.

"What do you think?" asked Alain. "Will you be able to get that extra afternoon off, or would you prefer me to go?"

Isabelle took out her phone and had a look at her calendar. "There are no meetings, as far as I remember, and I have no private appointments, either, so… And we'll be gone the next day, anyway! I certainly could go, but why don't we just go together? You know how confused I always get when I go there on my own…"

Alain sighed a little and then said "Right. I'll check with my supervisor, but I don't think there'll be any problems… Oh, and don't forget to e-mail Camille so she'll know we'll be coming to celebrate with her! We have left her hanging for long enough now… "

"Not yet," Isabelle replied. "I want it all to be arranged, cut and dried before I'll tell her that we're coming!"

And in response to Alain's inquiring expression she explained "It won't take me long. But there are a few things I want to sort out before we e-mail her. But you can reply to the message you got and say that it's OK with us, so at least part of the scheme is decided!"

* * *

Like the other exams, the finals were also taking place in consecutive weeks – one half before the weekend, the other half right after the weekend. Then the class would have some time off, and the exams would be graded. During the last week of August, they'd receive their grades, and the graduation ceremony would be held on the first Friday of the following month.

Camille knew she had studied enough for the exams, but she was nervous, anyway. So, she was grateful for Richard's attempts to distract her – still, he understood and respected her wish to spend time on studying. When the exam period finally arrived, he left it entirely to her to decide whether or not she wished to get together. He was there for her when she wanted to see him, and when she felt she'd rather be by herself, he accepted that, too. He knew how important a good result in these exams was for her, and by no means did he want to interfere and put unnecessary pressure on her.

They had agreed on only spending part of the weekend between the exams together because Camille wanted to go through her notes once more and have a quiet early night at her place before sitting for the last two exams on Monday and Tuesday. They'd surely spend time together after that – Camille was looking forward to staying at Richard's place for a while. She loved sitting in his little backyard, reading and listening to the noises coming from the street and the other yards around the house. It also would give her an opportunity to get a little more variety in her running schedule – she'd have time to explore while he was at work.

But before she could do that, she'd have to sit the exams… She tried not to worry too much, but of course, it had been on her mind more or less constantly over the past weeks. It wasn't only that she was apprehensive about the exams and her results – she also wondered what the future might bring. She knew that she couldn't return to Saint Marie right now as there was no vacant position in the police force there, and given the fact that her relationship with Richard was going so well and he didn't show any inclination to move back to the Caribbean at this point, she felt it was best to wait and see what the training centre appointment would bring. She hoped for a good job offer – but of course, she had no influence there…

Richard tried to be reassuring, but of course, being Richard, he kept saying things like "you never know" and "in all likelihood, but obviously that doesn't mean anything" – and that didn't really help all that much. Camille didn't hold it against him, though – it was just the way he was. She might as well complain about the rain falling from up above down on the ground instead of the other way round… life had thrown him the occasional curveball, so he had learnt not to take things for granted. He tried to be positive and convey optimism, but there was a cautiousness in him that made him come up with his typical 'embedded sentences'…

It was funny, Camille mused, how her attitude towards this habit had changed – on Saint Marie he had driven her up the walls with this, but now she didn't mind all that much any more. Just like he had learnt to put up with some of her habits that he had originally found quite disturbing – like her way of just leaving dirty dishes in the sink until a critical amount of items had gathered instead of washing them up immediately. Initially, that had really irritated him – but then he had understood that getting irritated wouldn't change anything, so he had learnt to live with it. He, too, had come a long way since Saint Marie…

The weekend between the exams was difficult. Richard did everything to make Camille feel comfortable, and she appreciated his efforts, but she couldn't help it – she was more snippy and terse than usual. She was aware of it and tried to rein in her tension, but it was hard.

Naturally, she had been less tense when she had had to sit the exams at the end of each unit – they would count towards the final result, but the finals obviously were more important, and no matter how much she had told herself that she had studied enough – she was worried. She realised that getting older didn't help with that sort of thing… you worried more about some things while you were a lot more relaxed about others. She had always laughed about Richard being a worrywart… now she understood better.

It was a good thing that Richard took her for a run in one of her favourite parks as the physical activity helped her to destress, and while she checked on her notes in the early evening, he cooked dinner for her without further ado. He even gave her a much-needed foot massage – secretly wishing he was the one on the receiving end as he really was exhausted at the moment, too. But better times would come again, and he knew she wasn't deliberately being a nuisance – she was just nervy. When they went to bed together on Saturday and she cuddled up to him, she heaved a big sigh and whispered "Thank you, Richard… I know you're tired, and I'm being a real pain in the neck this weekend, and I hate to admit it, but I'm quite twitchy because of the exams…"

He understood – but still it was challenging for him. Work wasn't exactly a walk in the park for him at the moment, either, and he, too, needed to rest – so her moodyness was trying. It was pointless to say that, though – she already knew it, anyway, and saying anything in that vein would most likely just make them bicker. So he just pulled her closer and whispered reassuringly "You'll be fine, Camille… you've studied so hard, and even if they come up with something you cannot answer rightaway, you'll find a plausible and adequate way to solve the problem…"

He felt her breath on the skin of his neck as she whispered "I'll make it up to you, Richard – I promise… once these exams are over, all will be better…"

* * *

And indeed, things got better once the exams were over – although not rightaway. It took Camille a little time to relax and unwind after all the stress she had been going through.

On Tuesday afternoon, she just felt numb when she left the training centre. Claire had tried to talk her into joining her and a few others who wanted to celebrate at the pub, but she just couldn't be bothered. On the way home, she remembered how she had always been ready to party and celebrate while she had lived in the Caribbean. But here, in the UK, she just didn't seem to have the energy… or rather, she couldn't quite see the point in how people 'celebrated' here. Their main purpose seemed to be getting plastered and doing crazy things. That included pestering people who clearly didn't want their attention.

Back at home, people got drunk, too, and she had received some 'indecent offers' there, too… _some_ men had been so persistent that she had been grateful for her self-defence training. However, that had been the exception – most people just got very merry and cheerful, and they knew when to stop. Of course, some people were constantly on booze, but again – they were not the rule.

Over here, it seemed that all decency and inhibitions went straight over board when people had to much to drink. She had never experienced so many attempts of groping and harassing – and then playing things down - before in her life… It might have to do with how so many people seemed to repress their feelings and actually wore a mask of courtesy and civility – they just weren't comfortable showing their real selves (neither to others, nor to themselves, apparently!), and when alcohol came onto the scene, they suddenly let go, and the 'beast' came out…

It suddenly occurred to her that she had never seen Richard getting drunk. She pondered the thought and then came to the conclusion that he might have got severely drunk once or twice, maybe at uni, and had perhaps made nasty experiences then – he was such an uptight control freak in many respects and hence the type that people tried to make drunk so he'd lose control and do stupid things… She'd have to wait for a suitable moment to bring up the topic and ask him some time.

But for the time being all she wanted was to be home, take a long hot shower and cuddle up on her sofa with a good book before talking to Richard on the phone. She had sent him a text so he knew the exams had been done and over with and she had left for home, so he'd surely call her later on…

After a quiet evening at home, she spent Wednesday doing chores at home and then went for coffee with her eccentric neighbour. They had become somewhat friendly, although not overly so – they helped each other when either of them was in a pinch, but they didn't fuss one another. It did her good to talk with someone who was not a member of the police force – they talked about all sorts of different things, and she felt quite relaxed afterwards. As much as she enjoyed spending time with Claire and a few others from her course, their conversation always more or less revolved around what their prospects for the future were, what kind of people they had worked with during their internships, what kind of police work they had done before joining the course and what they thought about all sorts of aspects of potential jobs or specific police departments – and Camille didn't want to hear about all that right now. With Richard, it was different – they also talked about work-related things, but it wasn't the principal ingredient of their relationship.

She met Richard at _their_ little restaurant – the place where they had had their Christmas dinner together had become some kind of 'regular' for them… they went there often now. At this time of the year, they could sit outside, and the staff knew them by now, so they got little complimentary extras every once in a while. Afterwards, they strolled over to Camille's flat, and around midnight, after what both felt had been a most satisfactory evening, Richard left for home again. They had agreed on Camille coming over to his place on Friday so they could spend the weekend together, and maybe she'd even stay a little longer…

So, Camille had the entire day to herself! In the morning, she continued to tidy her flat – during the preparations for her exams, she had become a bit sloppy, and things had piled up. She frowned when she discovered that her memory box was still standing next to the sofa. The lid was only half closed – it must have slipped out of place when she and Richard had fallen onto the couch together yesterday evening… She closed it firmly and stored it in the shelf where it belonged, making plans for her run in the afternoon… She'd take the route through the park and enjoy the warm summer weather, and in the evening, she'd sit down to write a long overdue e-mail to her mother…

* * *

Catherine Bordey opened her e-mail client and saw that a message from her daughter had arrived. She opened and read it – my, Camile sounded like she was in a rather thoughtful mood. She went on a bit about the exams and how she wasn't quite sure about how she had done, but she still was in fairly good spirits. On one hand, she was excited that the exams were behind her and that she could finally enjoy the summer a bit more. She seemed optimistic that a job offer would come rather sooner than later. On the other hand, she admitted that there was no guarantee, and she sounded a bit worried about what she would do if it came rather later than sooner...

She wrote that she might not be able to renew the lease of her her flat, depending on whether or not she had a job, and she also pointed out that maybe her landlord wasn't even interested in having her as a tenant any longer, or the lease might go up, and she wasn't sure at the moment if she could afford to pay a higher rent. The contract for the lease would expire in November, and finding an affordable place would be a challenge for her. She mentioned she didn't want to share a place with others, with 'strangers'... Things with Richard were going well, but she couldn't possibly ask him to let her move in – that suggestion would have to come from his side, not from hers… She didn't want to appear pushy…

Catherine raised her eyebrows. Never before had Camille written so much about her relationship to Richard. It wasn't that she went into detail about her feelings, but her mother knew her well enough to read between the lines. She realised that Camille was caught between wanting to be independent and wanting Richard to make a commitment. What was the expression for that – having her cake and eating it? Yes, that seemed an apt way to put it. Well, her daughter was in for a surprise, Catherine knew that much – and come to think of it, it wasn't just _one_ surprise that was waiting for her.

Replying to Camille would have to wait for the moment, though. She'd have to choose her words well in her response, so Catherine closed her message and opened another one instead. This one wouldn't require so much thought – she just typed a short paragraph and sent that into the ether. She knew the recipient would appreciate her to be brief and to-the-point. Then she clicked on the link in the original message, a new window opened, and she wrote a few lines, attached a current picture of herself and hit 'send'.

Finally, she clicked on Jennifer Poole's last message and responded to that – it took a bit longer than anticipated to write everything she had on her mind and wanted her friend to know, but after a couple of paragraphs, she figured she could send off her message. There were a few things she would have _loved_ to tell Jennifer, but at the moment, she couldn't – she was basically hogtied because she had given a promise about keeping quiet about certain things, so although she was itching to spill the beans, she felt obliged to stick to her promise. "Too bad," she thought, but she knew she was doing the right thing by not disclosing what she had come to call 'the big miracle' when thinking about it all…

As an afterthought, she attached the same photo that she had included in her other message – not that she had changed all that much since Jennifer had been on Saint Marie, but she figured it would be nice for her friend to see that she was wearing the necklace she had sent her for Christmas last year, and also, she wore her hair a bit differently now, so that was another good reason for sending a photo, too.

Pleased with herself, she shut down her e-mails and picked up her phone. There were a few things she would have to clarify and settle before she could make further plans…

* * *

Camille rashly threw another T-shirt into her bag, along with her sandals and the book she was currently reading – it was Friday, and she was due to be at Richard's place by 7 p.m. She had planned to gather her stuff together before now, but then Claire had phoned her in the late afternoon, and they had got lost in a long conversation about the exams, the weird - and almost unreal - feeling of being done with the course and finally about what they'd wear for the graduation event, and she had forgotten the time. She'd have to hurry now so she wouldn't miss the bus! Fortunately, she had already deposited part of her wardrobe at Richard's place – so even if the items she had knocked together now weren't sufficient, she'd have a few alternatives if need be. T-shirts wouldn't be the problem – she could always snatch something from Richard, but the two skirts and four blouses, plus some underwear and a couple of bits and bobs that she had consigned to his care (or rather his washing machine) and never taken home again would come in handy..

She rushed out and caught the bus just in the nick of time. As she sat there, watching the houses and trees whizzing by, she recalled the conversation with Claire and how happy she had been to announce that her friends from France would come to the graduation event – this morning, she had finally received an e-mail from Isabelle, confirming that they'd come over and stay for a week. It would be nice to have her friends around for this special occasion, and she knew Richard would enjoy spending time with them, too. She hadn't forwarded the message to him yet – she was looking forward to telling him personally.

For a moment, she wondered if they he might have any specific plans for the weekend. When she had seen him on Wednesday, he had asked if she wanted to do anything special, but she hadn't really had any particular idea. Right now, all she wanted was relax, take it easy and spend time with him… wherever he wanted. She loved his house, though, so as far as she was concerned, she'd happily stay there with him.

With a spring in her step, she got off the bus and walked the short distance to the street where he lived… and when she turned the final corner, she realised that it felt like she was finally coming home.


	25. Straight from the Heart

Chapter 25 – Straight from the Heart

Richard had just finished changing into something more comfortable than his suit when he heard the doorbell ring – and with a last scrutinising look into the mirror, he rolled up the sleeves of his sage green shirt: Camille was right, this colour really looked good on him. And it went together very well with the dark slacks that he liked to wear at home. It was too warm for jeans – which was his other preferred piece of clothing around the house these days. Gone were the times when he'd hang around at home in his suits and dress shirts – he had a life outside of work, after all. He had realised this after his transfer to the UK – somehow he hadn't really _lived_ before his return from Saint Marie. He had more or less existed and survived… He couldn't change that any more now – regrets wouldn't really make a difference! – but he wasn't doomed to make the same mistake over and over.

He dashed downstairs, nearly doing a somersault over the edge of the rug that was laid out in the hall, and opened the door. There was Camille, beautiful and smart as only she could be… in tight red capri jeans, a red-and-white blouse with ¾ sleeves and matching red-and-white chucks. She was carrying her black overnight bag over one shoulder, her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she wore the most radiant smile…

In the corner of his eye, he noticed how the curtain next door twitched – ah, Ms Fletcher was on the watch! By now she had surely figured out that Camille wasn't his 'Mrs Mop' – but he had tenaciously refused to discuss his relationship with her, although Ms Fletcher had tried to worm more details out of him whenever she had had the opportunity to do so. Initially, she had been somewhat tactful with her questions, but with time, she had become agog with curiosity, and his frustrating way of answering questions with questions and confusing her with irrelevant, distracting trifles had made her act more and more insolently.

Secretly, Richard enjoyed this game of 'cat and mouse' – he felt it was only fair to leave her hanging, considering how she kept foisting King George on him… Admittedly, feeding King George every once in a while wasn't really any hardship, but he hated being taken for granted…

Well, he wouldn't change his tactics now, although Camille – who certainly knew about this little feud – tried to undermine his determination by giving him a seductive look with fluttering lashes and greeting him with the most suggestive voice she could muster up. _What_ she said was harmless, but not _how_ she said it…

For a moment he clenched his teeth and gave her an indescribable glance, then he worldessly ushered her in. The door was closed with a muffled bang, and Ms Fletcher next door was disappointed once again. With a frustrated sigh, she retreated, wondering if there was even the smallest chance she could ever find out more about this mysterious woman and the connection she had with her neighbour. Maybe, he was learning a new language – or yoga – or singing… and this was his teacher? It had to be a professional connection somehow. Although… she seemed to spend an awful lot of time at his house. However, given the fact that he was so reserved and even slightly pompous, it couldn't be anything but a professional connection between them…

Inside, Richard was a lot less reserved and pompous than Ms Fletcher would have considered possible – he had instantaneously taken Camille into his arms and kissed her ardently. Camille didn't have any objections – and for minutes, they stood locked together, revelling in the feeling of belonging. Richard was almost embarrassed when he felt that his heart was about to burst with happiness as he was holding her like this – there still were times when he couldn't get his head around why she would want to be with him, but he certainly didn't complain. Life was so much better with her…

Eventually, their kiss ended, and Camille hid her face in the crook of Richard's neck, enjoying his typical unique scent. She felt him breathing, his hands were tenderly sliding over her back, and she realised that it was _him_ – not the house – that made her feel at home. It didn't really matter where they were – as long as they were together, she was at home.

Her eyes welled up with emotion, and she blinked back the tears before lifting her head and kissing him once again, just very briefly – then she moved a little, and Richard released her. He sensed that something was different tonight – but couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. After a moment, he shrugged it off, though, and put it down to the relief that the exams were over…

Camille didn't quite understand why she was feeling so emotional, but she figured it might have to do with the fact that another chapter of her life was coming to an end. She had never been the kind of person who 'looked back', she had always tried to be proactive and initiate changes when she felt stalled, but that didn't mean she was free of melancholy. And of course, she was wondering what the future would bring – she had enjoyed her course, but now it was finished, and with some luck, she'd get a job offer in the UK, preferably in the London area, but what then?

She didn't really know what would come out of her relationship with Richard. She wanted to be together with him, and she hoped for a clearer commitment – now that she had finished her course, they could – and they _would_! - be more open about their connection. Yet, she wanted to be independent and not considered his 'appendix'. And then again, she wanted him to know that she wanted to be with him – yet she didn't want to put pressure on him. It was all a bit confusing, and surely that was why she was a bit out of sorts.

She decided to brush over it and said with a smile "So, here I am, Richard! What's the plan for the weekend?"

Actually, Richard hadn't really made any plans – and much to his surprise, instead of pouting or immediately coming up with suggestions, Camille was openly relieved and said "Oh, good. Having a quiet weekend sounds just right – I've had enough excitement over the past few months. I really need to unwind a little – mind you, now that the exams are over, I notice how stressful it all has been… it will do me good to just spent some time pottering around and taking it easy… And we can always go away if we change our mind…"

* * *

Saturday evening arrived, and Camille stood in the bathroom, getting ready for the night. The navy blue oversized T-shirt that she wore as a nightie featured a few spatters of toothpaste, but she decided she'd wear it, anyway. She couldn't be bothered to take out anything else… Richard wouldn't mind, and she was tired – they had had an eventful day altogether, not really the quiet time they had originally aimed for.

There had been errands to run, and in the early afternoon, they had taken the train to go to Bishop's Stortford where they had done a little sightseeing. They had had dinner there as well, and it had been well after 9 p.m. when they had returned. It had been a lovely, harmonious day, and she had been happy to explore yet another English town, but now she was somewhat exhausted and looked forward to stretching out and getting some rest. They had agreed on taking it easy on Sunday, so that was good…

She heard Richard coming upstairs and moving towards the bedroom – he had insisted on tidying up the kitchen that they had left in a mess after lunch. She heard him coughing a little and moving around as he was presumably getting undressed and changed into his pyjamas, and with a smile, she reflected on how the weekend had gone so far…

After her arrival on Friday, they had cooked dinner together and sat outside for half an hour with their wine afterwards, then they had gone inside to watch some TV – but nothing really had tickled their fancy, so they had ended up talking about all sorts of things and reading a bit. Remembering the snippets of the programmes that they had caught while zapping around fairly aimlessly, she arched her brows – there had been this really daft sappy old film set in Victorian times – or maybe even a little earlier than that, the costumes had been a bit of a mish-mash, and there hadn't been any clear historical references – that had made her cringe… why on earth they still showed that kind of stuff was beyond her. But there surely was an audience for that, otherwise they wouldn't broadcast it.

It had featured an insipid heroine and a supposedly dashing dark hero. Richard had groaned and rolled his eyes when he had opened the info option with the remote control and seen it was based on a Barbara Cartland novel. While Richard had made feeble objections, Camille had snatched the remote control from him and insisted on watching – she had been morbidly fascinated with the inanity of the dialogue and the depicted gender stereotypes that had appeared prehistoric to her, and so they had watched for about five minutes – they happened to be the last five minutes of the film, anyway. It had been obvious that the heroine was doing a mix of being shy and trying to be coquettish, and finally, the hero had sunk down on one knee, taken the girl's hand and come up with a long-winded proposal – she had accepted, and the man had then jumped up and nearly crushed her in his arms – and then the credits had come up, and the film had been over. Camille had let out a sigh, followed by an embarrassed little laugh when she had realised that she had held her breath at the scene.

It had been then that a squirming Richard had determinedly grabbed the remote control back and switched off the TV and suggested they'd rather do something else. Camille had been amused by his obvious discomfort and teased him a little about it.

Although Richard had tried to end the conversation by changing the subject several times, she had finally figured out that he had felt uncomfortable about the whole thing for different reasons… one had clearly been the rôle that the male hero had had to fill – and he had also been appalled by the part that the girl had had to play.

Camille had noticed a certain despair and annoyance in how Richard had exclaimed "Oh, come on – what a charade! I mean, it seems to be written that male heroes always have to be bursting at the seams with self-confidence, they have to be the master of the scene, otherwise the girl won't even look at them twice – isn't that all ridiculous? And then this pseudo-submissive blah-blah about him having doubts of being good enough for her – he knew very well that he was considered a good catch and all that – oh, please, what kind of drivel is that! They both know it's not true! Stuff like that is just so… I have no words for that! And the worst thing about it all is that it has shaped expectations of generations of men and women – maybe the drivel isn't welcome any more, but even now, some women seem to expect their sweetheart to kneel down when they propose to them and make a fancy little speech… Has anyone ever thought about how questionable this tradition is?"

They had gone off in a discussion about gender stereotypes then, and Camille had realised that Richard had come a long way from his previous preferences for the proverbial damsels in distress that he had seemed to entertain during his time on Saint Marie… Back then, he had seemed to feel competent and capable when he could 'help' women who clearly were in difficult situations and looking for someone to lean on… he had enjoyed playing the card of the 'able' police officer who could help to ease the pain and solve the mystery. He had clearly divided the world into a male and a female sphere, and women had been puzzling to him, out of principle, simply because he hadn'd had much experience with how they 'ticked'. Somehow, this had changed over the past years – he wasn't so easily confused and bamboozled any more by 'female tactics', and he was generally more ready to see everyone as 'human' now – without categorising them as 'male' or 'female' in the first place.

Or maybe he had always been like this, and it had just been buried under his pompous behaviour? Had he pretended to be a living cliché in order to hide his real personality? Camille suddenly realised that maybe she hadn't known him all that well back then… how judgemental she had been, and how little he had reacted to her provocations… which had annoyed her even more… Yes, it had been his passive resistance that had upset, yet intrigued her so much.

As she stood in front of the washbasin, brushing her hair, she recalled how it had felt like she had woken up all of a sudden during their conversation. They had moved on to other subjects, and she had tried to shake off the feeling – but had kept lingering. Maybe her wish to be free and independent wasn't really contradictory to making a commitment? She could have it both, couldn't she – it was a matter of making it work.

How complex relationships could be – she had realised that they both had changed – or maybe other core aspects had been unveiled and come out more clearly over the years since he had left for the UK… In that respect, it had perhaps been a good thing that they had had to lead their separate lives for a while, with all implications… Maybe they wouldn't have understood each other so well if they had been together all the time… She knew that he would feel 'obliged' to come forward with a proposal when he felt the time was right for it, but she also knew that he would be nervous about it.

Anyone would be nervous about it – and truth be told, she'd feel wrecked about it, too, if she had to do it.

Perhaps it was wrong of her to expect him to go ahead and come up with a 'proposal' – for lack of a better word… She recalled how they had briefly talked about Humphrey's compass ring and how she had said a ring had to suit the recipient and had to come from the right person… Why did it have to be the man who made this move? Then again, Richard was perhaps less old-fashioned than she gave him credit for, but wouldn't he feel domineered over if she went ahead and proposed to him?

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror and decided she'd think a little more about all this over the next couple of days…

* * *

Richard sat on his side of the bed, waiting for Camille to come out of the bathroom so he could go in and get ready for the night. He heard water splashing, then silence, interrupted by the occasional humming… She was surely brushing her hair now, he thought. He knew all her routines so well now… Their domestic life together might not appear very exciting to others, but he loved it. He loved spending time with Camille, he loved the conversations they shared - the deep ones just as much as the silly ones -, he loved the way she looked at him when she teased him just as much as when she was about to tell him that she loved him, he loved her intelligence, her temperament, her playfulness, her ability to put herself into other people's shoes, her confidence… oh, anything and everything about her… and he felt that he knew her so much better now than all those years ago when they had worked together on Saint Marie.

He recalled the conversation they had had yesterday evening, right after they had watched the last ten minutes of that mawkish Barbara Cartland film… He had not been impressed with the ending – for several reasons. Right, it was based on a so-called historical novel (albeit a highly unrealistic and sappy one) but even today, some traditions wouldn't go extinct, despite the different world they lived in now. It irked him how – no matter how independent, emancipated and self-reliant women of today were - it was expected that all men were – if not alpha males – at least bursting with self-confidence and how it still seemed to be understood that they always were the ones who would take the crucial step and propose to their respective female counterparts. That didn't seem fair!

For most of his adult life, he had just assumed that this was how the world worked, but his view had changed over the past few years. He had come to the conclusion that women usually were the ones who chose their partners – not the other way round (it had certainly been that way with Camille and him… if she hadn't let him know that he was the one she wanted, he never would have dared make a move) – and he felt that it was hypocritical how many of them still seemed to expect the men to bend over backwards and come up with a spectacularly original proposal.

It was weird how they were still caught up in these old fashioned patterns, although times were clearly different now from those that Barbara Cartland – that dolled-up old bag! – had described in her novels.

Of course, he knew that if he wanted Camille to make a commitment, he would have to be the one to suggest it – and that scared him. He was prepared and willing to take that step, but it still frightened him. Not because he was all that afraid of rejection – actually, he was quite optimistic that she wouldn't turn him down, but you never knew, and would she be impressed with his way of popping the question? He didn't want to disappoint her. At the same time, he wanted to remain true to himself – he just wasn't sure if it was good enough for her. He didn't often suffer from self-doubts any more these days, but this was such an important issue – he didn't want to make a mess of it.

So, he had argued that it was a stupid film with stupid stereotypes, and maybe he had gone a bit far with his critique… He had stopped when he had realised that he was perhaps giving away something that he didn't really want her to see just yet…

Looking down on his hands, he replayed Camille's reaction to his little rant – she had laughed out loud and told him that he was exaggerating. And when he had pointed out that from what he had heard, many women still expected a romantic setting, perhaps a candlelight dinner with all the trimmings, moonshine, soft music in the background and so on for a proposal, she had smiled at him and come over to sit next to him. She had snuggled up to him, and with a teasing undertone she had remarked that those were all good ingredients for a proposal, but they weren't indespensable. "Candlelight can never hurt. But at the end of the day," she had said softly, "all that matters is that what someone says comes from the heart."

And then they had kissed, and the conversation had moved on to other things…

Her response to his tirade had been reassuring… At this point, his eyes fell on the closed bathroom door, and he suddenly looked thoughtful…

* * *

Camille boxed the pillow into shape and grabbed the book she had purchased recently. It was a new French novel that she had ordered online… and with a smile, she recalled Richard's reaction when she had told him that Alain and Isabelle would come to her graduation ceremony. He had been delighted, and they had started making plans for their stay rightaway. It would be fun to have them around…

She scanned the book's blurb once more, looked at the portrait photo of the author and read her bio. She heard the bathroom door closing and looked up, expecting Richard to come in, but instead she heard him entering the spare room that he used as a study. The noises emerging from there indicated that he was rummaging around, apparently in a drawer of some kind.

Then she heard a screeching noise, followed by a hardly muffled curse, and she smiled. Then it was silent for a moment.

"Everything okay, Richard?" she called out, a little alarmed. "Yeah, fine," he responded, sounding slightly annoyed, "just a jammed drawer…"

Finally, she heard him closing the door to the study and padding over the corridor. The door was pushed open. Again, there was silence.

She looked up when he didn't say anything – and there he stood, framed by the doorway, wearing a grey V-neck T-shirt and his striped pyjama trousers. One hand was on the doorhandle, and he held a metal candleholder with a lit candle in the other hand. The flame was flickering, and his eyes seemed very big and dark.

He passed her a nervous glance and a strained little smile. "What is it?" she asked, putting the book to the side, straightening herself and coming to her knees. The soft mattress yielded a little under her, and for a very brief moment, she struggled for balance.

He cleared his throat and then croaked "Would you terribly mind – er – turning off the light?" She had no idea what he was up to, but understood that whatever it was, she'd have to play along now – if she interrupted him, he'd get upset and feel discouraged, and she sensed that he had set his mind on getting something important across. So, she leant over to switch off the light next to the bed and turned around again to face him.

Very carefully, he set down the candleholder on his nightstand, and she heard him heave an almost inaudible sigh. She wasn't quite sure if it was relief, nervousness or something else that made him sigh. But before she could give any more thought to it, he turned towards her, climbed on the bed and kneeled on the mattress, right in front of her, reaching for one of her hands. She looked at him, and before she knew what was coming, he leant in to kiss her – lightly at first, then with more and more passion. Their bodies hardly touched, he just held her hand, squeezing it a little. Camille closed her eyes in pure bliss – whatever she had expected, it hadn't been _this_.

He took his time… eventually, he let go of her hand and took her in his arms, pressing her body against his. Camille couldn't think – and it didn't seem necessary, anyway – her body reacted to his instinctively, and for long, long moments, they just kissed quietly, yet passionately.

After a while, he released her, and Camille, her head whirling, sat back on her heels and looked at him expectantly. She knew something important was about to happen, and she wanted to get every little detail of it.

Richard looked over to the candle and sighed, remarking contextlessly "This candle is sooty. I should have shortened the wick…"

Then he took a deep breath and said, passing her an insecurity-filled glance "But you… you said that candlelight never hurts, so… I mean…" He paused and she looked at him inquiringly, tilting her head to one side. He pulled a face and said, a hint of despair in his voice "Right… this wasn't what I wanted to say, so… I guess I'll try again…"

However, he didn't quite know how to start, so he shifted a little and sat back on his heels as well, mirroring her position. Then he seemed to have a sudden flash of wit, and exclaiming "Oh, I almost forgot!" he turned around and pulled out the drawer of his nightstand, taking something out of it. Camille's eyebrows went up when she saw the little velvet box in his hand. Now, this was looking _very_ serious. All of a sudden, she felt her heart skipping a beat, and a wave of excitement was flushing through her body.

Richard cleared his throat again and firmly clutched the box – that seemed to give him confidence as the next words came out solemnly, but in his normal voice.

He said "I've been thinking about how to do it, and I've had all sorts of ideas, but none of them really seemed right. Too… too artificial, too unlike me, too unlike you, too generic, too arbitrary. So I figure I best do it as honestly, plainly and simply as I can – which kind of fits because – oh well! And if it's clumsy, then… it is because this is what I am… but it comes straight from my heart, and you said that's all that counts."

He looked into her eyes, searching for encouragement while he was unwittingly fidgeting with the box in his hands, and with a tender smile, she gave a slight nod. He pulled himself together, inhaled deeply – and with a determined movement, he opened the little box and presented it to her, asking nervously "Camille, will you… will you marry me?"

Camille drew a deep breath and looked at him, then at the ring in the box that he offered her, then at his face again – there was nervousness in his eyes, fear of rejection, insecurity… and she moved closer, clasping her hands around his, and tried to speak. However, her voice was gone, and so she just nodded vehemently. His eyes briefly closed in relief, then he leant forward, and they kissed again, both holding on to the little box in his hands.

When they finally came back to their senses, Richard gave a little embarrassed laugh, took the ring out of its mounting and said hoarsely "Let me…" Camille held out her hand, and he slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, and Camille lifted her hand to take a closer look at it; in the flickering candlelight, she saw that it wasn't a solitary diamond ring that was commonly associated with engagement rings, but rather a golden ring with three little frangipani flowers – each of them held a little diamond in its centre. It matched the earrings and the necklace that he had given her for Valentine's Day, and undoubtedly, it came from the same workshop. How thoughtful of him to find something like this for her!

Richard watched her nervously, and when she looked up to him again, he was relieved to see tenderness and pure delight in her eyes. She still hadn't spoken, but it was clear that she was happy – and that she had said yes… wordlessly, but he had no doubts that her reaction meant that she had agreed to become his wife.

For a moment, his head seemed to swim… they'd be husband and wife, good grief!

While that sounded somehow awe-inspiring, he didn't have the time to ponder the thought any longer. Camille had resolutely put the empty box on her nightstand, moved forward and put her arms around him. Her face came closer, and just before she kissed him, she finally said in a very low voice "I'm honoured that you asked me, Richard, and I'll do my best not to drive you batty! And now – let's celebrate this once-in-a-lifetime event…"

Richard was only too willing to oblige, and together they sank back into the cushions.

The candle on the bedside table was the only witness of the passion they shared that night. It kept vigil over them as they fell asleep, and when Richard woke up again with a start in the middle of the night, he let it burn for a little longer so he could watch Camille sleeping.

His _fiancée_ … it sounded almost unreal!

While he was watching her, she stirred a little, and in the flickering light that caressed her skin, he saw the sparkle of the ring that he had given her… and with a happy smile, he leant over to blow out the candle before he got comfortable by Camille's side again.


	26. My cup runneth over

Chapter 26 – 'My cup runneth over'

It was the first Thursday of September, and Camille got dressed for her interview.

She had tried to swap interview appointments with others from her course so she could have the day off, but unfortunately, it hadn't worked out, and she was stuck with her original appointment. It was really most annoying that she had to go and see the HR folks when she knew that Alain and Isabelle would arrive this afternoon – she had _so_ wanted to pick them up from St. Pancras station. They had opted to take the train, and Camille would have loved to meet them at the station… but alas, it wasn't meant to be.

However, Richard had promised her to pick them up and take them to her flat – his leave had already started – so they wouldn't get lost. In the evening, they'd all get together – Richard had made a reservation in the little restaurant in Stanmore. That way, Alain and Isabelle wouldn't have to get into town, and they could start to make plans for their stay.

With satisfaction, she checked her reflection in the mirror – this should be fine for something official like a job interview… she wore a black knee-length pencil skirt with needle stripes and a white blouse with elbow-length sleeves, together with moderately heeled black court shoes. She wouldn't wear a jacket with this, but to be on the safe side, she had tucked a colourful light shoulder scarf into her satchel. The air-conditioning system in the training centre was a bit unpredictable and sometimes came up with arctic temperatures.

Originally, she had considered wearing a colourful statement necklace, but then she had decided against it – it would perhaps come across as too bold. So, she had settled for her gold necklace with the anchor pendant, along with small golden hoop earrings. Her hair was styled in a snazzy chinlength bob – she had recently got a proper haircut – she just had needed to get a reward for herself after the exam results had arrived: she had passed with flying colours. Later on, she had found out that she was actually among the top five graduates of her class – not bad for someone who hadn't been so familiar with the British police system in the first place…

Richard had objected when she had announced that she would finally get a 'chic' haircut to celebrate, but then he had admitted that it suited her very well. She knew he was terribly proud of her accomplishment – although he had not been overly demonstrative about it and claimed he had _always_ known that she was extraordinarily smart. It had been obvious that he'd been worried she'd get megalomaniac if he praised her too openly…

When she tucked away a skittish loose strand, the golden ring on her hand gave a sudden flash in the sunlight, and she smiled happily.

Richard's proposal had totally overwhelmed her – she had _hoped_ he'd come forward eventually, but she hadn't known if he was ready yet. She had been half-determined to propose to him instead of waiting for him to make up his mind, but then she had realised that it would perhaps intimidate him, and also, she didn't really have all that much to offer when it came to the 'mundane' aspects of life… like accommodation, a safe workplace or savings. They couldn't possibly exist on love and air alone, and it would have come across as strange and maybe even presumptuous if she had made the crucial move – after all, he had a house, he had a safe job, and he had savings whereas she only had herself – and the vague perspective of a job – to offer. She had been well aware of that discrepancy. So, approaching him would have been a bit difficult…

The whole issue had solved itself nicely by him taking the plunge and asking her to marry him. And it had been so romantic!

Well, maybe not in everyone's book, and surely, Barbara Cartland would have turned up her nose at his proposal and classified it as 'breach of decorum', maybe as 'awkward' or 'maladroit'… but that didn't bother her one bit. Barbara Cartland's opinion didn't matter – and she was dead, anyway.

Actually, come to think about it, it had been surprising that Richard hadn't chosen a different place, a different time and a different tone – considering how keen he always was on doing the right thing and following a certain procedure, this more or less improvised act, performed in the bedroom while both of them were wearing their sleeping attire, seemed a bit out of character.

However, he had given her an explanation a few days later – he had been encouraged by her reaction to the snippet of the film they had watched together. The dark and ominous cloud of expectations that had hovered over his head and made him wonder if he'd ever muster up the courage to ask her had disappeared when she had given him to understand that she wasn't really keen on all the 'embellishments' that seemed to be vital for so many women, if you wanted to believe the tabloids and magazines.

Richard had been unsure if he could master the scenario that seemed to be expected from him – and it had been a huge relief to realise that Camille couldn't care less. Once this realisation had settled in his brain, it had inspired him to finally give it a go and pay no heed to potential pitfalls any more. Still, he hadn't been sure _when_ to do it so he had mulled over it for a little longer – then, however, he had realised that their relationship had reached a point where he shouldn't really worry any more.

That hadn't helped with his nervousness, of course. But it had been such a happy weekend, somehow he had felt an even more intense intimacy with her, they seemed to have come to a level in their relationship that surpassed all his original expectations… he just had to go for it. He hadn't told her with so many words, but his attempts at explaining had made sense to her.

She marvelled at the ring again as she stood there in front of the mirror. It was simple, yet elegant and beautiful. Richard had confessed that he had already ordered it a while ago although he had only picked it up very recently. It was custom-made; he had asked the workshop owner if he could design something that would match the necklace and earrings that he had purchased for Valentine's Day. He had made a rough draft of what he had had in mind, and the workshop owner's wife had then drawn up several versions – and this one had been Richard's favourite.

"I wanted something special," he had explained, "something out of the ordinary solitary diamond ring fashion, something unique…"

When Camille had remarked how perfectly the ring fit and asked curiously how he had known her size, he had looked a little guilty, then he had admitted that he had snatched the compass ring from her memory box and taken its measurements before giving the final OK to the jeweller's workshop, just to make sure that the ring wouldn't be too snug or too wide. He explained "You had mentioned that it had fit quite well, particularly considering it was an adjustable ring, so I thought I'd doublecheck… and actually, I hadn't been too far off the mark, but the jeweller was grateful that I could give him a precise specification… It was finished the day afterwards…"

So that also explained why she had found her memory box half open a little while ago… he had hastily taken the measurements with the small stainless steel ruler that he always carried with him, along with his penknife and a few other utensils, and then returned the ring into the box right after he had come to stay with her on the evening after her exams. How cunning of him…

Remembering his little proposal speech, she smiled tenderly. It had been far from perfect – at least from a conventional point of view. But it had definitely come straight from his heart, and that was really the only thing that counted for her… and she had found it _very_ romantic because it had just been so like him to be nervous and befuddled in a situation like that!

After a last scrutinising glance into the mirror, she turned around, picked up her satchel and made ready to leave.

* * *

Richard checked his watch once again – shouldn't the train be here by now? Then, just an instant later, he heard the loudspeaker announcement he had been waiting for… the Eurostar would arrive any minute now.

And indeed… There it was… the train arrived, came to a halt, and as if by magic, the doors slid open.

He had positioned himself at a preconcerted strategically advantageous spot and watched the passengers disembarking the train, hoping that he wouldn't have to wait for much longer. Alain and he had agreed that it would be best if they just met up at this spot instead of both parties trying to make their way through the masses of passengers, meandering from one side to the other until they had found each other, so he just stood there like a statue and waited. His thoughts wandered off to tomorrow's event – and to how much he was looking forward to Camille's face tonight when she'd realise it would _not_ only be Alain and Isabelle coming to visit, and he was also pleased with himself for having managed to make all the arrangements for yet another surprise – his parents would come to Camille's graduation event, too.

Ah, there they were – he saw Alain's bulky figure in dark jeans and a checked shirt, and right behind him was Isabelle, small and bouncy, dressed in black trousers and a short-sleeved mustard yellow top. They looked exactly how he had remembered them. Next to Isabelle, he saw a slim figure, wearing blue jeans and a blue and white striped shirt with a boat neckline… Her wavy dark blond hair bobbed up and down as she walked along the platform. She looked familiar, yet he was unsure for a moment – although it was not that he hadn't her expected to be there - but, indeed, it was Catherine.

He realised that he had never seen her in anything else but blindingly colourful floating dresses, with turbans and headscarves, dangly earrings, statement necklaces and funky bangles. It was quite startling to see her in this more urban attire! And he had never realised how similarly Camille and her mother moved – even the way they walked was similar. They were both very attractive women – each in her own way.

In a sudden flash he also realised that Catherine was closer to him in age than Camille – just on the other end of the timescale. That had honestly never occurred to him before – once he had overcome the shock that Camille's mother was quite a bit younger than his own parents, he hadn't thought about the age difference between her and himself any more. Now it struck him, though, and for a moment, he wondered if Catherine perhaps thought that her daughter was throwing herself away by getting engaged to be married to someone who was quite a few years older.

He realised that he was nervous. He knew that Catherine knew that he and Camille had got engaged. Of course, Camille had told her, and beforehand, he had informed Catherine about his plan to ask Camille in an e-mail a while ago. Her response had been very friendly and positive, she had actually wished him luck - and he hoped that she meant it, especially considering that they hadn't always had a smooth rapport (the infamous chicken soup episode had always hung between them and cast a shadow on their relation).

In his message, he had suggested that she'd come over for Camille's graduation because he knew how much she missed her daughter – and vice versa. They had exchanged a few e-mails, and he had then put her in contact with Alain and Isabelle to make the final arrangements for the trip. He had insisted on paying part of her trip, and she had gracefully accepted his generosity – he had interpreted that as a sign of goodwill. When everything had been settled, he had also brought his parents into the loop – without mentioning his plan for proposing, though – he hadn't wanted his mother to get over-excited too early.

Of course, he had known that both his parents would be pleased to get invited to the event. And it hadn't really surprised him to find out that they already knew that Catherine would be coming – he had figured out by now that his mother had kept in touch.

However, he had managed to make Catherine promise that she didn't mention his plan to 'pop the question' – he had explained that he would want to tell them in person, and Catherine had understood – she was a mother herself, obviously, and had she been in Jennifer's shoes, she would have been hurt to get the news from a 'third person', too – so it hadn't been hard for her to give him her word that she would keep quiet.

Richard and Camille had told his parents during a weekend visit that had taken place not long after they had got engaged, and the announcement of their engagement been celebrated properly by going out for lunch on a Sunday – Camille had objected to Jennifer cooking a full roast for all of them as she felt that Richard's mother deserved to get spoilt for the occasion and shouldn't spend hours in the kitchen. This had brought her a slightly bewildered sideways glance from Graham and a raised eyebrow from Richard, but in the end they all had been happy. Jennifer had noticed her 'menfolk's' reaction, and it had been obvious that she had felt it was a good thing that finally someone came along who questioned the family's established habits and traditions and brought some fresh air into the house.

So, Richard knew that his parents were more than happy to welcome Camille into the family… but how would Catherine react to having him as her _son-in-law_ now? It was one thing to get informed and 'notified', but a personal encounter was a completely different thing. Would she just put on a happy face for Camille's sake, or would she really 'accept' him?

He didn't have to worry for much longer. After Alain had vehemently shaken his hand and patted his arm with his free hand and Isabelle had got on her toes to hug and kiss him on the cheek – completely ignoring his starchy posture (they were in public, after all!) – Catherine came up to him, a disarming smile on her face, and opened her arms… Richard couldn't do much but endure yet another hug. He didn't actively respond, but he didn't shy away, either, despite his reservations. Sarcastically, he thought that he'd better get used to this – French habits would become part of his daily life before too long, anyway… He registered Catherine's perfume, there was a soft kiss on his cheek, and then she whispered in his ear "Thanks for the invitation, Richard – and congratulations! It was about time that you and Camille got your act together!"

So, she really had meant what she had said in her e-mail – that she was happy they had met again and worked on their relationship – although it hadn't been sure at all that things would work out between them…

Aloud, Catherine now said "So, what's happening now, Richard – will you brief us on where we're going from here?"

* * *

"So, how did it go?" Richard asked when he had opened the door and Camille sailed into the house, looking quite content with herself, if not even a little smug. With an amused smile he watched her as she kicked off her shoes and dumped her bag, obviously quite satisfied with what the day had brought so far. He couldn't wait to see her face when she'd realise that there were more surprises waiting for her…

"You look amazing, by the way! And I take it that you got an offer?" he added, closing the door with a soft click. She turned around and nodded. "Thank you, and yes, I did," she confirmed, "and although it's not ideal, it's good enough, and there's even an amusing twist about it…"

She came over to kiss him properly, and he held her close for a moment before saying "Come outside and let's have a drink in the garden – we can talk more there, okay?"

Some time later, he knew that she had been asked to join the team in Barnet – under Angela Tyler's lead. It was part time – 80 per cent of the regular work load, so that meant a four day week.

"DI Henderson never came back," Camille explained, "and poor Young had to take over part of her responsibilites. He nearly lost his mind over the chaos that Henderson had left. They had another inspector filling in on a temporary basis, but it didn't work out in the end for whatever reason, and so they decided they need another DI on a permanent basis. Their budget got cut, though, so it's not a full time position for the time being – although that might change again eventually – and naturally, that means they can't possibly offer it to someone who's on the lookout for a regular promotion. So, they figured they'd offer it someone who has just finished the course and is eager to earn their spurs, so-to-speak. Since I haven't got anywhere to return to, yet am superficially familiar with the station and the team already, they thought I might be interested – and I accepted."

Her voice had a triumphant undertone, and when he made a remark that she sounded very pleased with herself, she laughed and said apologetically "True… it might not be my finest character trait, but somehow it fills me with satisfaction that I can go back and show them what a fantastic cop I am. Actually, given the fact that they actually expressly _requested_ HR to ask me shows that they know already, but… oh well! Apparently, Chuck Norris has praised me to the skies, and the certificates from the other stations were very positive, too!"

She sat back in her garden chair and went on "But tell me, have Alain and Isabelle arrived? And have you taken them to my flat? How do they like it? Did my neighbour make a fuss because of the key? When are we going to see them?"

He explained that everything had gone according to plan, that her neighbour – who had kept the spare key – had been extremely welcoming, and that Alain and Isabelle both were delighted with the little flat. Much to Camille's inner amusement, he stressed how excited Isabelle had been with having the flat entirely to themselves – that had obviously played right into his hands, and he couldn't help but show some complacency in that context…

He had also showed them where the restaurant was, and they'd meet up at 7.30 p.m., he concluded. He had wanted to give everyone – including herself – some space to breathe before getting together – it had been a long and exhausting day for Alain and Isabelle, and Camille had been tense, too – so it had seemed best not to rush things.

Camille agreed, put her glass to the side and stretched lazily – before getting up and announcing that she'd take a shower now and get changed then… On the way inside, she bent down to kiss Richard, and as he watched her moving inside, running a hand through her hair and picking a dead leaf from a plant in the living room, he couldn't help but smile – how amazing his life had become since she had re-entered the scene…

* * *

After the usual greeting ceremonies of hugging and kissing one another plus exchanging the usual friendly niceties in French had been accomplished and they had all sat down, Camille was about to give the waiter a sign so they could order, but Richard stopped her, indicating that he needed a bit more time to make a decision. Camille gave him an annoyed sideways glance – they went here so often, he should know what he wanted, really! He was surely only trying to get her attention – silly behaviour. She suspected that he was jealous because her friends were visiting…

However, Alain and Isabelle indicated that they were happy to wait and looked through the menu once more.

They were sitting outside, at a large table for six people, and Camille began to complain that a smaller table would be nicer and more intimate. Richard remarked that she shouldn't be such a fusspot, and Alain and Isabelle smirked at the conversation that developed from there. Of course, they both knew it was just diversionary tactic from Richard to keep Camille from noticing what was going on behind her back.

Suddenly, Camille felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, and a familiar voice said amicably "So, have you made up your mind and are ready to order?"

Camille whirled around and jumped up like a scalded cat – and fell right into her laughing mother's open arms. Richard watched the two women hugging tightly, chattering enthusiastically and looking at one another with love and affection, but also some scrutiny in their eyes – it was heart-warming to see their excitement. His surprise had turned out really well, as it seemed.

When they finally sat down, Camille kept holding her mother's hand and then turned to the others, asking with a certain tremolo in her voice "Why didn't anybody tell me? Whose idea was this?" They all looked into Richard's direction who suddenly found himself in the centre of attention and began to fiddle around with his napkin, not quite sure what to say now.

He started clearing his throat, but before he could say anything, Camille – who was sitting next to him – had leant over to kiss him – not just lightly, but with quite some enthusiasm. He didn't get much of a chance to react as it was over in what seemed like a flash to him, leaving him dumbfounded and somewhat embarrassed. A bright smile on her face, she clutched his hand. She'd thank him more elaborately later on…

* * *

"Bonne nuit!"

Isabelle looked up from her book and smiled gently in Catherine's direction. "Bonne nuit," she responded with a slight nod, and Catherine disappeared in her daughter's bedroom.

It was interesting, Isabelle thought, how similar their friend and her mother were in some respects – and how different in others. In any case, it had been fun to watch Catherine, Camille and Richard interact this evening… It had been obvious to her that Richard had felt a little self-conscious about meeting Catherine, and the feeling had apparently been mutual – Catherine had appeared guarded, almost cautious sometimes. Most of the time, she had been very open and friendly, and the way she had greeted him at the station had been definitely warm and affectionate – so she surely wasn't against Camille's connection with him, but there had been an immanent underlying reservedness in her behaviour sometimes that had made Isabelle think. Well, maybe it had only been due to the fact that she didn't quite know how to handle the situation.

But whatever – she would have to get used to it. It was clear that Camille wouldn't let Richard go.

With a content sigh, she put her book to the side, switched off the light and snuggled up to Alain who was already far away in the land of nod – she was looking forward to the next few days. They had made all sorts of plans tonight, and if only half of them materialised she'd be more than satisfied.

* * *

In the bedroom next door, Catherine stretched out in her daughter's bed – it had been a long time since she had slept under a duvet, but she'd surely get used to it… She'd have to get adjusted to a lot of things in the future…

It had been unexpectedly strange to see her daughter so openly in love with the man who had been such an enigmatic tight-lipped nitpicker for most of his time on Saint Marie – and it had been even more strange to see that – while Richard still was starchy and reserved in many respects, he had opened up and learnt how to communicate since she had last seen him. He had even laughed a few times! And he hadn't worn a suit, but casual trousers and an informal jacket. He had looked like a different person!

She had appreciated his clear and to-the-point e-mails – he wasn't one to beat around the bush, but he was always polite in his messages – but she hadn't quite known what to expect from the re-encounter…

Well, she had a clearer picture now. It was quite obvious that Camille and Richard had adapted to one another and kind of 'fallen into line' – they still had their differences (and that would never change!), but they seemed to be so much more in sync than during the time they worked together in the Caribbean. It was like Richard knew instinctively what Camille wanted – and the other way round. They had grown together. They were 'one' – without having relinquished their individuality.

They were in love.

It had been eye-opening to see them together, and Catherine realised now that she had always half-expected her daughter to return to the Caribbean after that police course in the UK – even when she had heard that Camille had met Richard again and they had slowly built up their relationship.

In theory, she had known that Camille was serious about staying with him, and when he had e-mailed to inform her that he was about to ask Camille to marry him, she had known that he was serious, too – Richard wasn't one to play around. Still, it was one thing to know it – and yet another one to see it.

She turned over and sighed. She had seen boyfriends coming and going when Camille had been a teen, but once she had moved to France, she had lived her own life, and Catherine hadn't really known much about her relationships – and after Camille's return, there hadn't been anyone serious in her life. And so she and Camille had lived together as friends – the age gap between them wasn't really glaring as Catherine had been quite young when she had had Camille. They had relied on one another… when Camille had moved to the UK, Catherine's life had changed, too. And now, it seemed the change was going even deeper than she had assumed.

Camille would stay here where Richard was, and they'd build up their life here. If they had children together, she would be the far-away, distant grandmother – and Jennifer and Graham would be the local grandparents who'd look after the children when Camille and Richard wanted to spend a romantic weekend away.

Catherine wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.

But she knew she'd have to find a way to deal with all the implications that came with Camille's and Richard's marriage. Camille was a grown woman and had to live her own life – just the way _she_ had to live her life, too… She'd have to re-define her rôle, maybe…

* * *

Camille was blissfully unaware of her mother's thoughts and feelings, but Jennifer Poole could see the mixed emotions in her eyes when she and Catherine got together again. The Pooles had come to pick up Catherine, Alain and Isabelle and take them to the training centre where Camille's graduation ceremony would be held. While Graham made polite conversation with Alain and Isabelle, Jennifer and Catherine had a bit of a tête-à-tête and discussed their children's plans for the future.

Although Catherine didn't say much, Jennifer noticed a certain melancholy in her voice when she was speaking. She could certainly understand – she had spent quite some time on thinking about Catherine's situation and wondering how she might feel – and she had understood that Richard's and Camille's forthcoming marriage would mean some sort of turning-point for Catherine, too.

She knew that her friend was a pragmatic and resilient person, so she would find a way to deal with the situation – still, she was determined to help and support her as much as she possibly could. Catherine would spend a little over two weeks in the UK, and she'd stay with her and Graham for four days after Camille's graduation, so there'd be plenty of time for deep conversations…

With gratitude, Jennifer remembered what Catherine had done for her while she had stayed on Saint Marie – and she knew she'd have to make every effort she could to give back to her.

* * *

Isabelle smiled as she followed Alain and Richard who were cutting their way through the crowd – it was admirable how they managed to remain polite, yet persevering in their efforts to make it easier for her, Catherine and the Pooles to get to their numbered seats in the second row. Camille had panicked a little because she had only signed up for three seats – for Richard and her French friends – but Richard had put her at ease… as soon as he had known for sure who would come, he had called the training centre and informed them that there would be a few additional guests attending on Camille Bordey's behalf – and there had been space for everyone.

The new graduates were sat in an extra section so they could access the little stage more easily. Much to Camille's amusement, they had been asked to sit in alphabetical order so there wouldn't be a commotion each time one of them was called. They were already sitting on their chairs, each of them trying not to appear nervous and secretly – or openly – looking out for their family and friends. Camille smiled when she saw Richard and her friends, together with her mother and Richard's parents – how sweet of Jennifer and Graham to come to the event! – and her heart was almost bursting with love for them all.

She turned around to Claire who pointed out who her nan was – she had come with one of her cousins and was sitting in the third row, not far from Camille's entourage – and when she turned back again, she caught an understanding glance and a brief nod from Stephen… his eyes had widened when he had recognised DCI Poole – in a dark suit, dress shirt and exquisite tie, as he knew him - in the audience, and he had obviously put 2 and 2 together… Camille gave him a slightly apologetic shrug – even if Richard hadn't been on the scene, Stephen would never have had a chance with her. But it wasn't necessary to tell him so – it was enough that he realised that she was involved with someone else.

Catherine sat down between Richard and Jennifer, and after a few more minutes of nervous chit-chat and general restlessness the audience suddenly became silent when the head of the training centre got on stage and greeted them all with a little speech. Fortunately, he realised that people weren't here because they wanted to listen to him speaking, so he made it short and began to call the graduates who came on stage one by one.

There were several people before Camille – but finally, she was called to join the small group of graduates on the stage… She got up, and as she walked up with swinging steps, in her dark blue lady's suit, the white blouse and the dark blue checked scarf that some of the female cops wore these days instead of the tie, Catherine felt a lump in her throat – there she was, her little girl… all grown up…

She turned to look at Richard whose eyes were following Camille – there was pride in his gaze, but also an open and unconcealed love that nearly made her choke. Her right hand was squeezed by an emotional Jennifer, and although he appeared to focus solely on Camille, Richard suddenly retrieved a handkerchief that he passed on quietly to Catherine…

Camille received her certificate, and when she had turned around and found her place in the line of graduates on stage, her eyes wandered over to the second row in the audience. She knew now what the saying 'My cup runneth over' truly meant…

Her loving glance embraced the six people who looked up to her – these six people who had always believed in her, encouraged her and tried to make her life easier…

She had done it.

She had finished her course, she had graduated with honours, she had landed a job, and – last, but not least! - she had found love. The future was bright, and she was excited and curious to see what was waiting for her around the next bend.

Happiness, relief and pride flooded through her, and her eyes got a bit misty. It had all been worth it – although she hadn't known what to expect, and it hadn't always been plain sailing, she had done the right thing by leaving Saint Marie and coming here. Sure, ships weren't meant to stay in a harbour all the time, but she'd stay anchored for the moment.

And Richard and she would find out together where they wanted to go from here…


End file.
